Professionalism
by insubordinationfreak
Summary: COMPLETE: Goren discovers a potentially devastating secret about Eames' past that will test not only their professionalism, but also their friendship.
1. Contemplation

It had started off as a normal case, as normal as a homicide can ever be to police detectives. As Goren crouched and hovered over the body, he didn't even think to look at his partner's reaction, and he couldn't recall any details of it now. She was always just there, lending him an ear, taking notes, doing her thing. This meant he could save his observation skills for the crime scene, and he trusted her to do what needed to be done.

Yes, upon reflection, he now remembered that later on in the day, and the days that followed, she had been behaving strangely. Like when Rodgers gave them the run-down on the autopsy, and she wasn't quite herself. In the interrogation room, she was …odd. Then last night, she had told him (quite forcefully) to leave the stack of files and phone numbers and to go home and rest. He had waved his hand at her without making eye contact, dismissing her. And she had left. God he was so absorbed in the case, that he hadn't recognized her signs of distress.

Now it was four days after the initial call to the crime scene and he had just pulled an all-nighter on the 11th floor of One Police Plaza and was thumbing through a piece of evidence hoping that if he pressed at its surface hard enough, that it would self-destruct. Bobby was now wondering if _he_ had the balls to do what needed to be done. He couldn't quite fucking believe what he was suspecting. It couldn't be true of Alex. If it were true, it means that it had happened early on in their partnership, right under his nose. There was no way!

The piece of evidence was a black, leather-bound year planner from 2002. He had found ten similar ones just like it from both earlier and later periods in the victim's life. He had also found the newer electronic versions. However, none of those records concerned him – only this planner. He shouldn't have even been looking at this one closely. It was many, many, years prior to the crime. It was irrelevant. But of course he had looked inside. He shouldn't have found anything unusual in the details, but of course he had found something. Now it was staring him straight in the face.

Although he felt conflicted, Bobby Goren now knew what had do be done with the information he'd discovered – he had to ask questions. He had to find the truth. The fact that he had decided to ask those questions didn't mean he wanted to, and he certainly didn't feel ready for any possible answers. He hoped that it would be a simple explanation that she would lightly give him, and that what he was suspecting was erroneous. But his gut, and her behavior thus far, told him that this was going to be earth shattering. He needed to be delicate here, gentle. He couldn't fuck this up.

Alex had been there for him. She'd been strong for him always. Putting up with his shit, smoothing things over with the brass, calming him the fuck down. If not for her, he would have lost his sanity, and his job, a long time ago. She'd die for him, and had even shot and killed perpetrators to protect them. It was time to step up, and take care of her needs. But would she let him? Would she trust him? He contemplated that as he got up to go to the men's locker rooms to clean himself up.

Maybe the problem was his rock bottom self-image, which was a fairly new development in his adult life. He had always cared about the way he dressed, and the way he presented himself as a man. It had suddenly dropped away as fashion became the farthest thing from his mind. The last few years had bought many blows that had made him lose contact with who he used to be. Christ, he was lucky if he could manage to tie his own shoelaces in the morning.

He sighed and shook his head slowly as he looked in the mirror. He was unshaven, his wrinkles seemed to have permanently set in, he had bags under his eyes, a protruding gut, a bum knee, and he looked like hell. And that was just on the outside. His internal organs (including his brain) were suffering too from the drink, the occasional smoke, the stress, and the dark thoughts. Although she hadn't said anything, he knew it hadn't gone unnoticed by her or anyone who knew or worked with him. His gruff, aggressive demeanor stopped anyone from calling him on it.

It wasn't just him. She had changed too. He'd changed her. He saw himself as a parasite attached to her, greedily suckling the nourishment she offered. For a while she offered a lot, but with his suspension and tumultuous return, he could see that he had worn her down. She had no blood left to give and they were both starving to death. Sure she was as beautiful as ever. She looked after her body, ate well (except for the sugar) but she had aged a little too. It wasn't so much how she looked; she always looked good to him. It's that she was getting harsher and it could be seen in her face, her posture, and heard in her voice. She had always been strong, tough, and sarcastic, but there was an underlying bitterness to her now, which had not been there before. He was certain that he had put it there.

Despite this hardness in her, he understood that he had the capacity to make her cry if he pushed at her personal barriers. It had happened once or twice before and he didn't know what to do then, and he still didn't know now. How was going to be able comfort her if she cried? Would she even let him try? God knows he hadn't let her comfort him after Nicole, Tates, Brady, Declan, Frank, his mother. He groaned with the realization that he desperately wanted her in the aftermath of those events, and when she had offered a shoulder, he rejected her. He had yearned for much more than a shoulder and that's why he couldn't let her in. He couldn't risk anymore hurt. If he lost her, there would be too much pain to bear. So, to shield himself, he had done the opposite of what his heart demanded.

Since he had known her, he had always done the opposite of what he really wanted so no one would know how he truly felt. It was how he showed his professionalism. Sometimes he worried that his behaviour was too obvious and too easy to read. He was occasionally concerned that his not showing any public feelings towards her might be the biggest fucking tell of all. Then they had all seen him and his reactions when Eames was kidnapped. He unraveled. Did they know?

He really wanted to call her 'Alex', so he called her 'Eames' to maintain a professional distance. He wanted to touch her, so he flinched whenever their skin inadvertently made contact. He craved to know how she was doing personally and share how he was doing, so he firmly rebuffed any at enquiry with a hint of resentment. He even once barked at her to 'Back off!', which was akin to telling her to 'Fuck off!' when she got too close one time. God he could an asshole!

The truth be known, he wanted to have a sexual relationship with her. He had known that from the day they met. He wanted to fuck her and to fuck her off hard in that first year of their partnership. So in those early days, he had bedded many women instead of the one he wanted.

Now, many years of suppressed desire had passed by. The want never subsided; but it did evolve. Now he just wanted to kiss her softly, caress her skin, comfort her, whisper in her ear, please her, make her come, give her what she wanted and needed, make her beg and moan, make love to her, possess her, be her man and never let her go. Therefore, he never gave her any acknowledgement that either of them were sexual beings. He knew that they had both been celibate for a very long time. It was abnormal.

He picked up the electric razor he kept in his locker to attack his thickening beard in an attempt to look more acceptable to the race of humans around him. The beard was a cover for him, and he needed to get rid of it today. As he shaved he felt as though he was one rapidly aging, crumbling cesspool of a fuckin' mess. This was not the state to talk to her in. He needed to step up. How could they have worked with each other for almost a decade and still pretend they weren't friends, that they weren't personally involved? Of course they were. They were each other's everything. He had to trust in that. He had to have faith that she wouldn't throw it all away when he came to her with what he had found out. He looked in the mirror at his stubble, and scooped up the thick, graying hair. It was time he stopped hiding from her.


	2. Anaphylaxis

Chapter 2

**Note: This takes place before the events in chapter 1. **

CRIME SCENE

Alex Eames was loitering around the door of the forth floor of a three star chain hotel in Queens, waiting for the go ahead to enter. The delay had been due to a swarm of insects, which had been found inside the hotel room, along with a male body, probably in his mid-thirties. Pest control had been called in and Bobby was immediately concerned that this would contaminate any potential evidence. He instructed than a few calls be made to find a less toxic means of clearing the hotel room of the pests.

All this involved a long and frustrating wait. It turned out that the insects inside the apartment were honeybees. The apiarist was currently in the hotel room, smoking them into submission and luring them back into the bee box with some kind syrup coupled with a synthetic Queen bee pheromone. Naturally, Bobby had borrowed one of the protective yellow bee suits; one size fits all, and was currently donned in it while the smoking went on. With the mask on, he looked like some kind of creature from outer space. Goren was fascinated by both the bees' behaviour and the dead body on the carpet. This was the kind of mystery that got his juices flowing.

AUTOPSY

Unfortunately, the victim was proving hard to identify, as his prints were not in the system and no one of his description had yet been reported missing. There was no ID or cell-phone in the hotel room, and the front desk staff and the cleaner who had found the body had been no help. The room had been pre-paid online with a gift card - a no-name Visa card with $200 credit. The email confirmation of the transaction and the place of purchase of the card were currently being traced, but Goren and Eames weren't overly hopeful that anything would turn up. The driver's license of the man who had booked the hotel room was an obvious fraud, again with no prints or even partial prints. The CSU and forensics team were currently sweeping the crime scene, but hotel rooms were notoriously full of disparate DNA and multiple prints. Eames had ordered the surveillance footage of the hotel lobby to be sent as soon as possible, there was apparently some glitch with it, which prevented them from viewing it on site. The killer was smart, and it was definitely a pre-meditated murder. They hoped that Rodger's autopsy report would bring more insight. Fortunately, the autopsy was completed in record time

Rodgers probably didn't suspect it, but she was one of Goren's favorite people in the world. He could count on his fingers the number of others he felt this way about. In fact, she had a lot of qualities that reminded him of his partner. She was smart, composed, professional, competent and tolerant of his insolence and his curiosity. She also wasn't afraid to slap him on the wrist if he crossed her professional boundaries. Rodgers was all about the dead bodies.

There had only been one rupture in their relationship so far, and he did not recall it with equanimity. When she had told Ross about Goren's request for a paternity test, he had unleashed his fury on her and had scared the hell out of her.

Much later, when he had time to reflect, he felt the way he had behaved towards her was unpardonable. She in turn told him that she felt her betrayal of his confidence keenly. But they had talked and had forgiven each other long since. Shit, they might have almost considered each other friends. He, Eames and Rodgers stood around the unidentified body.

"The victim had a fatal allergic reaction from multiple bee stings, around 86 in fact, and likely died within 20 minutes of the first one," As he listened to Rodgers, Goren poked his white gloved hands around at the tight skin and angry welts of the once-handsome victim

"He has significant anal scarring indicating sustained penetration over a period of many years, though no signs recent non-consensual activity."

"Any STDs?" asked Goren.

"He's clean. There were no vaginal or seminal fluids on his penis or elsewhere."

Goren turned to Eames and commented that they would need to check the victim's history of sexual diseases on the medical register. He noted somewhere in the back of his mind that Eames looked about ready to vomit. It was probably his poking around that did it. She nodded to indicate she had understood his request and rushed out of the room.

"Too much coffee on an empty stomach today, I guess," he said to Rodgers, nodding at the door Eames had just left. "So, do you think he was a pro?"

"I'd say so, or that he had an unusually active sex life, but definitely a high end prostitute if he was. There are no track marks, no cuts, bruises, no traces of drug use or prescription medication. He's in extremely good health. I mean look at the guy, it ain't rigor that caused that hard six-pack."

Goren grinned and unconsciously patted his own stomach. He thanked Rodgers for giving him something to go on. He was going to find out what just what the victim did for a living.

The following day, after phone calls, and a few sidetracks, the victim was identified as one William Gatehouse. A New York native, and Eames was now driving them to his rented upper-East side apartment. The car bumped again and Goren looked up from his laptop at Eames, who was not driving, as smoothly as usual.

"It's strange Eames, because his record shows no arrests for solicitation. I guess I'll have to look into his tax records and see how he can afford a place at this end of town," She maintained her silence, but he was really speaking to himself anyway.

The apartment was small, neat and classy. It showed no signs of foul play or burglary, and it was clear that William Gatehouse did not do 'business' from it. Nevertheless, they ordered tests on the bed sheets and dusted for fingerprints, but it was his records of appointments in electronic organizers and notebook planners that Goren was interested in. The relevant pieces of evidence were bagged, recorded, and boxed. Then brought back with some of the victim's other personal possessions and laptop to 1PP. After interviewing a few of the neighbors, it was learnt that the victim was a quiet man who rarely had any visitors. It was clear that none of them new his sexual orientation or what he did for a living. It was surprising how little some people new about the people who were separated from them by a thin wall.

Goren sat down at his desk opposite his partner with the boxes of evidence. There was a lot of work to do, and the lead detectives needed some help with it, so they were delegating where possible. Eames had ordered checks on the victim's LUDS, but his cell phone had yet to materialize. As she was reaching the tail-end of a call, Goren tuned in.

"OK, the eleventh floor, we'll see you soon," she said before hanging up the phone.

"Who was that?" Goren asked.

"A friend of the victim, Zachery Pentoff, he's coming in now. I get the feeling he's in the same line of work; he's pretty upset."

"He as suspect?" Goren asked.

"Not so far, you want me to order in Goren. We might just have time to eat before he shows." He palmed his hand at her and shook his head. His gloved hands then disappeared into the victim's personal possessions as he started rifling through them. "You go ahead Eames, I'm fine." When he was absorbed in a case, he forgot to eat.

Around an hour later, they both welcomed Zachary with a handshake, and passed on their condolences. He was a well-built Nordic looking gym junkie. Eames got the three of them coffee, before heading to the interrogation room. Zach was visibly upset at the room

."Am I a suspect?"

Goren patted him on the shoulder. "Of course not, we just have to find out more about William, so we can catch his killer." Zachary felt reassured and sat down in the seat offered to him.

The interview revealed that both Zach and William were both male escorts and good friends (not gigolos, he stressed). They didn't advertise their services, and there was no website. All their clients were referred by word-of-mouth and it was all quite exclusive. They wined, dined, chatted and earned up to $500 an hour for their sexual services. A full night's experience started at $3000.

"So did any of the men William was seeing have a conflict with him? Maybe a jealous client, a jealous partner?" asked Goren. Eames had clearly taken a back seat on this one. Her rhythm seemed a little off. Their rhythm had seemed a little off for a while.

"He wasn't seeing any men as far as I know," answered Zach.

"Oh?" asked Goren. He wasn't going to mention the finer details of the autopsy.

"I mean it's not easy for male escorts to make a living if they see female clients exclusively, but Billy was able to do it. I don't think he'd had a male client in a year or so. I myself probably prefer male clients, but Billy definitely preferred the ladies. He didn't mind what they looked like either, whereas I have a nothing over 200 pound policy for women, 250 for men." He looked at Goren sizing him up. "Though I sometimes make exceptions for the right client", he added.

Goren smiled slightly as he was supposed to do to make the witness feel comfortable. He looked over at Eames, who showed no reaction on her features. He thought she'd be smirking or formulating a sarcastic remark in response.

"So what kind of women asked for William's, I mean Billy's services?" enquired Bobby.

Well Billy says, used to say, that he had a few kinds of clients. Married women in their forties who feel neglected by their workaholic husbands. Those ones are easy to please. Billy's good at attending to their needs, sending them tender messages, listening to them, opening doors, and making them feel special. He had more tolerance for that shit than I did; he kept 'em coming back for more by acting like a boyfriend, while collecting their cash and gifts, of course." Goren merely nodded. He was starting to dislike him, but this guy's insight might help him out with the psychological state of any potential suspect.

Zach continued, "Then there are single women aged twenty to fifty who are too busy with their careers to have a relationship. They mainly want a good lay on demand, my favorite kind of client," he winked at Bobby.

Eames looked at him, not concealing her contempt. Goren glanced over and noticed her reaction. He was probably reminding her of some of the sleazeballs she had dealt with in Vice.

Sometimes we take on couples, rich ones in their thirties or forties who want to spice up their sex lives. It's most often the husbands who request our services for their wives. They like to watch or record the sex or sometimes a threesome. Billy had some couples I think, but he never let them film him," Zach paused for a sip of coffee pulling a face as he drank. "Well, they're certainly not wasting taxpayer dollars on the coffee." Goren smiled and let him continue talking, though he doubted the guy paid much tax.

"Billy also had a few untouchables. He had a good heart that guy."

"Untouchables?"

"Yeah, you know the ones who need a pity fuck, the ones who should be wearing a bag on their head. You know like ugly women, disabled women, sad women, really old women, widows, super fat women, ugly women, women with low self-esteem, all kinds of freaks. In this economy, you've got to be good, real good, to avoid that lot. That's why I prefer men. They just want to fuck, be fucked or leave," he said frankly.

Eames stood up.

"Well let's hope one of these 'freaks' didn't murder your colleague Zach. If you'll excuse me, I have to go and check on some of these clients you mentioned," she walked out slamming the door a little too hard. Zach looked over to Goren.

"So I guess she doesn't want my card then?"

He grinned. It was either that or smack the guy upside the head.

Goren chatted to him for a while longer, but didn't get anything significant. After he left, Goren took a seat opposite Eames in the now-empty bullpen.

"Well he must have some other attributes to make him money. Charm certainly isn't one of them," Goren commented.

"He's nauseating," she agreed.

"What have you got there?" She was poring through the electronic organizer, "Did you call any of William's clients?" he asked her.

"Yeah, but it's…delicate. I got a lot of hang-ups understandably. I'm going to try visiting some of them tomorrow," she replied.

"Probably a good idea that you do it alone, at least the female clients. They'd probably be reticent in front of me," Bobby commented.

"Why? You think they have something to be ashamed of?" she said with unexpected force.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe," he volleyed back.

"Oh, so it's fine that men visit hookers, but when a women does it, she should be ashamed and embarrassed."

He looked at her and was about to say something, but bit his tongue on his initial thoughts and looked back down at his laptop.

"Well?" she asked expectantly, itching for an argument.

"Eames, did you know that after a drone fertilizes the queen bee, he explodes and dies. The queen releases the drone when she is done with him and stores the sperm in an organ called the spermatheca.

"Really Goren? That's fascinating! I don't suppose you have to worry about that happening to you, since you never get laid anymore."

"Where the hell did that come from?" he asked her. It actually hurt him that she said that. She always treated him with respect. There was no humor in it this time. With all her stings today, he was starting to feel like the victim must have felt.

Her tone softened a little. "Sorry, you didn't deserve that," she sighed. "It's just that it's 9pm and you're still at work, we're still at work. It's not healthy and we're not getting anywhere anyway. We should just come back fresh in the morning."

He nodded to indicate he wasn't annoyed with her, "Can I look at his organizer?"

"But I need to take it for the interviews tomorrow," she pointed out.

"Well, has a back-up been made?" he asked her.

"Not yet, I'll do it now," she stalked off.

Goren realized that she was really touchy tonight, and he wasn't sure why. She was just like that on occasion. He didn't want to even speculate about her menstrual cycle; it was more likely that he had done something he wasn't yet aware of to earn this treatment. He mentally shrugged it off and pulled out a stack of the victim's black leather bound yearly planners. They dated all the way back from 1996 to 2006, after that he seemed to have gone electronic with his appointments. Eames approached with a USB stick backup, and put it on his desk.

"What are those?" she asked.

"I'm trying to find out the frequency of his clients, what kind of stuff he wrote, what he did most days."

"Well the records you need are all here, backed up. You should go home Bobby." She started to clear away the planners, files, and phone numbers and put them back into the boxes to force him to go. Goren looked at her startled and annoyed, but let her do it anyway. He remembered when she had done the same when they were interviewing Brady. She was trying to protect him or something sweet like that. He shook his head, as his plugged the USB into his laptop.

"You go. I'll let you know if I find out anything else; this case has been off to a slow start." he said. He was concerned that it was day three and they still hadn't found a viable suspect. The longer it took, the less likely they would solve it. They had to solve it; they were Major Case.

"God Goren, would you just go home for once. This can wait till morning."

"I'll just be another hour, Eames," and gave her a little wave of dismissal and she rolled her eyes.

"I'm not coming straight in. I'm going to visit some of the people on this list. We'll be in contact," she said.

"Alright, we'll keep each other posted, good night." And she was off before he remembered to tell her to drive safely. Something was off with her. They had been off since he came back from suspension, and honestly, before that too. It's as though they didn't work together as smoothly as they used to, or laugh like they used to, or even like each other the way they used to. He stored this information in the back of his mind for later retrieval. Then he made a call to check on the progress on the surveillance footage from the hotel. No answer. He groaned in frustration and thought he'd have to see about getting some footage from the street outside instead. He was still waiting for forensics on the hotel room, and the bee box. He didn't have high expectations for the former, as a hotel room turned up too much DNA. He really needed to get a look at that bee box. Rodgers had been quick with her job, so what the hell was taking so long?

He pored through the electronic organizer, and found another older one in the box. The batteries were flat and the IT staff had gone home, so he went out into the street to get some more; he also had hopes that the fresh air might clear his head. He had to visit two convenience stores before he found the batteries he was looking for. He resisted a packet of cigarettes, but succumbed to a packet of cheetos, a disgusting-looking pastrami sandwich in a box, and another Red Bull. Holy fuck he was going to have to stop eating this way!

When he returned to the office, he surveyed and made notes on the appointments in the second electronic organizer. He had compiled a list of females for Eames to visit or call. Oddly, there were not a lot of names listed, only addresses, emails, and phone numbers. He spent hours looking up the phone numbers and addresses, reading fascinating emails from the vic's laptop, and finding any of the victim's clients who had a criminal record. Finally, he got out an orange highlighter pen and started going through the ten years' worth of paper planners. Working his way back, searching for something he could sense in his subconscious was there.

Around 5.30am, he saw something he couldn't fathom. March 12, 2002. He saw the symbol which meant female and 'New Client' was noted in neat handwriting. It wasn't that which interested him. It was the address, 27 Beach Crest- Rockaways. It was Eames' former address. He knew it was because he had been there after she had been kidnapped. He'd help her move to Forest Hills not long afterwards, and then Mulrooney had invaded her domain at that address.

How the hell could her address be in here? He would call her and ask. He looked through the pages, and found her address entered again a week later. There were five entries in total. Most appointments were two hours, one appointment was longer, one was shorter. There had to be a logical explanation.

She did not have a roommate. There must have been a reason why she knew William Gatehouse. Was she helping out an old colleague from vice? Was she working a case without telling him? He looked up some of their old cases from March 2002, but found nothing they had been working on connected to prostitutes. He would just call her and ask, and than she'd explain it to him.

But he didn't call.

It was 6am. He rubbed his hands through his too long hair and his straggly beard, and got up to go to the men's locker room.

(A/N At this point, Bobby goes to the locker room and shaves while he contemplates what to do, this scene is described in chapter one.)

It turned out that Bobby was temporarily spared from confronting his partner about what he had discovered, as the two detectives didn't see each other until 7pm that evening. As agreed, Eames had been out questioning the victim's recent female clients, and Bobby had driven to the apiculture department of an upstate college whose logo was found by forensics on the underside of the bee box. A professor at the college had told him that a bee box, which a PHD student used for genetic experiments, had disappeared the day before the murder, screwing with their results. The professor was very annoyed at the loss, more so than the murder. The faculty was going to email Major Case the timed camera shots of the storage area where it had been stolen post haste.

Just before he left for the day, Ross had given Goren a dressing down on his lack of progress on the case. He knew that Ross perceived these little speeches as motivational and when the captain pointed out that the two of them got things done a lot quicker when they worked side-by-side, Goren had actually nodded in acknowledgement. Ross was annoyed that they had been apart all day following separate leads. Goren hadn't lost his temper with his boss. Honestly, it was the truth. Anyway, Bobby had other things on his mind.

He needed to talk to Eames about her interviews and, as for the other matter of her address; he didn't know quite what to do about it yet. He had kept his mind busy so as not to think about it and was powering himself on caffeine to stay awake. He really wished now he had gone home to bed the previous night when she had suggested it. Just as he started thinking about her and denying what he had found, he suddenly looked up and there she was. She looked tired, and worn and unhappy. His stomach lurched, and he felt very acidic all over.

"So you got rid of the beard! 'bout time," she remarked with false chirpiness. .

"How did your interviews go?" He tried to look her in the eye, as he rubbed his smooth chin. But instead he found himself looking down at the desk inadvertently, and quickly looked back at her, hoping she hadn't noticed. Eames was a fine detective. She immediately noticed something was up. She looked to where his eyes had just traveled, and saw the leather-bound planner with 2002 embossed in large gold letters across the cover. He could see her mind ticking over, and he could see the change in her face. She looked around the bullpen. There were only five or so stragglers. She stared back at Goren and he met her gaze with his eyebrows raised.

"Detective, I need to talk to you in private," she said.

He nodded and stood up, leaving the planner on the table.


	3. Waterloo

CHAPTER 3

He'd skipped a night's sleep and; as a result, couldn't think clearly how best to handle this. He had been distracting himself from contemplating it all day. He was also experiencing alcohol withdrawal symptoms and badly wanted a cigarette. He had been drinking way too much caffeine to keep up his energy, and his hands were now shaking and his heart rate and adrenaline levels were elevated. This is not exactly how he planned to turn over a new leaf health-wise.

Liquid dread pumped through his veins as he followed her into an interrogation room. He locked the adjacent viewing room and checked the recording equipment was disabled before they entered. His legs were barely holding him up, so he sat down on one of the chairs. She leaned against the gray wall and sized him up. He knew from the expression on her face that this was no small matter. Although she was dressed in light blue and dark blue, she looked grayer than her surroundings.

"So what did you find out today Eames?" He dissembled to her a little about their reason for being in this room, hoping this conversation had nothing to do with 2002.

"You first Goren. What did you find out today?" she was daring him. She looked almost hysterical now. His beating heart softened. He would just forget what he'd found out. It probably wasn't pertinent anyway.

"Well I told you I went up to Brownlow college and..."

"Cut it and get to the point!" she snapped.

This couldn't be Eames before him with her hands on her hips. She was like another person. He cowered inside and out, and she saw him do it, because she knew him.

"What?" she demanded. For the first time in his life, he thought she looked ugly. He did not like it. It reminded him of his mother. "What do you want to say to me Goren?"

Goren took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, wishing for spontaneous combustion, or anything that could take him away from what was about to happen. He tried to think of something appropriate to say. He wasn't able to prepare for this conversation. Why hadn't he prepared his words, his approach? He was supposed to be a fucking wordsmith in interrogation rooms. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. "Well uh.. Is there something you want to tell me, Eames?" He answered a question with a question. That old chestnut.

"Like what? There's nothing I need to say to you," Her words come out fast and crisp. He hardly expected her to just disclose her private matter, but he couldn't hint any longer, he had to ask.

"Well I think there is Eames. You're not being completely forthcoming with me. Is there something I need to know about the case?"

"Huh?," she replied with indignant tone."So _I'm_ the liar now! What are you keeping from me Goren?"

She wasn't crying like he had feared. She was enraged. This he could deal with. She was right; he had been keeping the fact that she found a male escort's appointment book with her address listed on at least five occasions. It stung that she had called him a liar. She would perhaps never get over that fact that he deliberately neglected to tell her about his undercover operation while on suspension.

"OK. Since you asked," he paused as his courage faltered. He didn't doubt that his suspicions were right, and if they were the shit was about to hit the fan. Either he could stand on the edge of the swimming pool fearing the cool water, or he could just jump right in and get it over with. He jumped.

"I think you knew the victim, Eames. No, I know you knew the victim." Usually when he laid an accusation like this on a suspect, he looked carefully at the reaction. Eames was not a suspect, and he couldn't look at her right away. He let her react in private as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out several pages he had torn from the 2002 planner. He placed them on the table gently.

She almost seemed to run forward in slow motion to pick up the pages. He watched her with trepidation as the revelation that her address and appointment times were right there in black and white (and he felt shame now at having highlighted them with an orange pen; What had he been thinking?). Her face slowly filled with abject horror, but she was trying to keep it smooth and hide her response. Goren felt sick as he watched her psyche be lacerated. Had he done this? He dreaded her looming words.

In truth, he wanted her to lie to him; he fantasized about her spinning him a lie right now to explain it all away, but simply he couldn't allow her the opportunity to lie to him. It would be beneath her dignity, beneath them. So he nipped it in the bud. Relentless, probing Goren took control. "These appointments were from well after you finished working in Vice Eames. Why would you be meeting with a…with William?" He continued talking to cover up that he almost said 'male escort'. She was quiet and her eyebrows were raised. He was in the eye of the hurricane, and all seemed deceptively calm.

He was at work, in an interrogation room with Eames. It was throwing him off his path of how he wanted this to go, so he stupidly kept moving his lips. "Eames, this was almost two years after we started working together here. I checked back. You were only working with me on cases on those dates. I don't recall your being assigned to anything else. None of our cases in that period had any connection of this nature. And if he was an informant, you never told me about it." He glanced up at her then, and it was with the confidence of a detective. It was almost accusatory. He didn't realize that was demonstrating to her evidence of his meticulous research skills. If he'd remembered the look on her face when she'd seen his handiwork of her husband's photo pinned up on a board, he might have chosen a more tactful approach.

She cast her eyes over his shoulder and let the diary papers she had been clutching drop back on the table. He felt, no _saw_, humiliation and wrath emanating from her being like smoke. Tears of hatred were welling in her vengeful eyes. She took a step or two towards the table and slammed her fist down hard, and he jumped in his chair.

She focused in on his eyes. He did not like what he saw there. "Why are you doing this huh? Why? I thought you were my friend. And what do you do? You INVESTIGATE me without telling me; you get me in here and give me a Goren interrogation special!" She pointed her index finger close to his face. "You son of a bitch!" Her voice was loud but threatening to crack. She strode past to the two-way glass. "You got the captain and the ADA watching?" she accused.

He wisely figured her last question was probably rhetorical. He was desperate to explain his motives. His voice was obsequious and apologetic, and he pushed back his chair to face her. He didn't stand up. He didn't want to appear more imposing. "Eames, you've got to understand! This is not the time or the place I planned to bring this up. I'm sorry that…I am only asking you about this because… because I'm concerned about you, and I want you to know that it's OK. You don't have to worry about this." He gestured to the papers on the table, "You have nothing to be embarrassed about with me Eames."

She didn't respond, and looked to be in shock. He filled the silence and tried to make his voice softer, more caring. "It just doesn't seem like you've been OK over the last few days. I want you to be OK."

_OK_? For once in his life, his ability to come up with synonyms had failed him.

She faced him head on then, and she looked like a lioness, a lioness with a sarcastic roar. "Just what are you thinking I did Goren? Enlighten me as to what's going on in that sick head of yours?" She pointed her finger at her head for emphasis.

Although it smarted, he ignored that stab at his mental health because he understood why she'd said it. It was a defensive jab in response what she perceived as an attack. She didn't mean it. He knew he had to respond in some way, but how? He wasn't sure whether to come at her with his suspicions about the escort immediately, or just back off and give her time (or to jump out the nearest window and fall eleven floors to his timely and now very welcome demise). He made a choice.

"Eames," he spoke softly and gently. "I need to know why he visited your apartment on those five occasions for hours at a stretch. Was it for a case? Which one Alex, because I don't remember it?" She flinched as the use of her first name, but didn't let it throw him and soldiered on. "If this could compromise our investigation in any way, you have to tell me." He looked up at her waiting for an answer. Although they weren't even close to making an arrest, it was shit like this that could have a case dismissed in court, and they both knew it.

"Tell you what precisely, Goren? What do you think I'm going to say?" her tones were unstable, wavering up and down as she waited for his dreaded answer.

He closed his eyes and bit the bullet. "That you were his client."

He couldn't breathe for a moment, and he felt his heart literally skip a beat. His pulse increased and he was tingling as his dry mouth somehow ejected those five words he could not take back. "If you were seeing him Eames, I'd understand, I wouldn't judge you but please, you have to tell me." There. It was said. He couldn't believe it was said, when there was so much more unsaid between them. He had tried to keep a gentle tone and concern in his voice, but it didn't come out right. It probably sounded patronizing to her.

It didn't take her long to reply with that wavering voice. She had lost her usual poise and confidence, and it was disconcerting. She folded her arms and her eye contact was scattered. "You know what this is about Goren? This is about your own ego, your own drive. About ferreting out the truth like you always do, about being right. You can't let sleeping dogs lie. You can't use your judgment. You just have to win. You always have to be right, don't you? You can't fucking toy with me like this again Goren. I won't let you! She bent down to look him in the eyes with all the sincere vitriol she could muster. He again thought of his mother, and he sensed what was coming. The verbal blow she struck hurt him as much as any maternal slap ever could. "God I fucking _hate_ you Goren! I hate you for even daring to ask me this!"

He winced in an almost physical pain at her words. He could see that she meant what she said, and he knew that all the hatred present in her eyes and words was thoroughly justified. It wasn't just this situation she was referring to, but to his investigation of her husband's death. He had tried to justify it at the time by telling her that they were detectives, and that asking questions was what they had to do. In the end, hadn't he been right? Hadn't Joe's real killer been found? He was right; it was true. But he still didn't know if that truth had been worth the emotional trauma he had put her through, and now he was doing it again.

He felt so low. What had he done? He may have just broken her, his best friend and the woman he loved, in an interrogation room. He absorbed every molecule of her wrath. He welcomed it if it meant that it left her body. His eyes were pierced with hurt and he wanted only to draw his eyelids shut and disappear, but he found it in himself to maintain his gaze on her liquid-filled brown eyes. This kind of stoicism was in his nature and had been carefully honed. He kept his voice firm and steady, but just a little too loud to compensate.

"You have every right to hate me Eames. Believe me, _I_ hate me for this, but still I have to ask." She hadn't yet denied seeing the escort. He couldn't let her hold it inside.

"No you don't Goren," she looked defiant and righteous at having hurt him.

He rubbed his forehead in a reaction to the stress. If he wanted her to be frank with him, then he would have to get honest too. That's how he got suspects to confess. "Yeah, I do. I have to ask Eames because.., " he faltered.

"Go on, dazzle me Goren." There was nastiness in the air. She looked at him expectantly, delaying the release of her building scorn until after he produced his reason.

He gave his reason from his heart. "Because I care about you alright. I care about you too much to let you overlook this, to ignore this. You need to talk about it."

She chuckled in that same awful way when he had told her that he didn't tell her about the undercover operation because of the rules. He'd hoped never to hear such a sound from her again. He braced himself for her next attack.

"Oh, you think _I_ need to talk to _you._ _You're not getting' it_ Goren! If you really cared about me like you say you do, you'd _back off_," she spit those words out with venom.

He recognized them as his own words. Words he'd regretted saying to her, and now she was throwing them back in his face. Oh, he did get it. He was a hypocrite! He had hurt her then, and now he was making her suffer again. .

His personality, his nature, had caused this. It was his dogged crusade for the truth that was responsible, but he had to believe that the truth would set her free. It was the only way. With this in mind, he didn't let her blow knock him out completely. Even if he would never be her man, she still needed him to be stronger than this. He spoke, "If I care about you, then I should back off? No Eames, it's because I care about you that I won't back off; I can't back off and…and Eames," he looked at her with all the sincerity he could muster. "I care about you more than anything in this world, more than anybody."

He said those last few words with hesitation as he looked in her hostile eyes. The words came directly from his honest self. Bobby was near breaking point, and he had only a few times in their intricate _(twisted)_ partnership _(marriage)_ ever let her see his feelings _(weaknesses)_ so transparently. He was the dishonest one, the evasive one. Without even consciously deciding to, he found that he was now standing up with a vague notion of embracing her. It was a big mistake. She was repelled by his physical gesture and he could now almost feel a palpable force driving him back, as though they were both magnets of the same pole pushing desperately apart, unable to touch.

She moved as far away from him as she could, folding her arms even more tightly to protect herself. Her chin was high in the air and her face was hiding behind her hair. Her eyes wouldn't reach him. She had completely withdrawn herself from him, and he feared it was for good. He remained standing, and shuffled his face from side to side. His roaming hands buried themselves deep in his pockets. He felt like Frankenstein's monster when the humans he loved finally saw him face-to-face, and rejected him.

He didn't expect angels to weep at his declaration that he cared for her. The moment was far too ugly for that. He felt as though he had just relentlessly interrogated her in an attempt to exact a confession. This is not how he intended this conversation to play out. He had to show her right now that he didn't care about the integrity of the case or being right. It was only her he cared about.

He reached onto the table and picked up the torn out diary pages, which contained Eames' home address, highlighted in bright orange. They were the original pages. There were no copies. He then clutched his other hand around his Zippo lighter. She turned at the sound as he flipped it open and it fired up. She watched his hands (not his eyes) as he burned them, and they both saw the flames slowly lick over her still unacknowledged secret, turning it to cinders. It took just a moment, but also a lifetime. He cursed himself for not having done it the moment he had found them. He could have avoided inflicting all this pain upon her, and upon himself. It could not be extinguished so easily.

Just as he thought she was going to meet his eyes, he heard a long shrill wailing sound, and he spun his head around in utter panic. For a moment he thought the sound was emanating from her soul. When he looked back at her, he realized that she had vanished from the room, leaving the cloud of smoke and cascading ashes behind her.

It took Goren a moment to cancel the smoke alarms which his small fire had set off, and a few more moments to make some phone calls from his desk to lie about why the alarm had sounded. He knew that Eames had left the building. He could no longer feel her presence in the air. He didn't know what to do next. The sound had bothered him to his bones, and felt nauseous and sweaty. His heart was racing from abrasive sound of the alarm, and also the confrontation he'd just initiated, not to mention his recent staple diet of Red Bull and coffee. Then there was the fact that they were no closer to solving the case, and maybe no longer partners. He also had to wonder why she didn't deny it. Why had she done what she'd done? He just couldn't comprehend it. He felt weakened and sweaty, and his body was protesting from within. So he sat down at his desk and stared across at her chair. He was terrified he would never see her sitting in it again. He didn't feel quite right.

He stayed in this trance for a quarter of an hour as his mind drifted towards memories from his early teen years, when his father had made him- Bobby- wait in strange houses or apartments or in the car outside, while he visited prostitutes and other unsavory 'girlfriends'. At that time, he and his father had made a deal, a nudge-wink man-to-man deal. Bobby would sit and wait, and later he would lie to his mother and tell her that his Dad had taken him to a game, and boy had it been a good one. He used to pride himself on inventing a few, but not too many details to make it believable He got a much-craved 'attaboy' pat on the back from his father for his deception, but it came at a price.

At first Bobby thought it was cool. He was flattered that his father trusted him with 'secret men's business', and he hadn't realized they were professional 'girlfriends' at first. Then he grew up and realized the dishonor of lying to a mother who needed truth in her life because her own mind lied to her. Whether or not his mother knew he was lying, it added to her indignities and insecurity about the world around her. It also was dishonorable and detrimental to his character. It was a dishonor he worked so hard to rectify throughout his adult years. It was what drove him to visit his mother and take her abuse every week until she died. It was what provoked him to always find out the truth. Had he been too harsh with Eames because of this experience with his father?

He was sure he had tried to be kind as he asked his partner about the appointments. He was a kind man, wasn't he? But it all came out wrong when the words left his mouth. Had he fallen into detective mode? How could it have gone so wrong? Why did the conversation have to be in the interrogation room of all places? How could he expect her to confide in him when he never confided in her?

Suddenly a 'beep beep' sound broke his hypnotic trance. He reached for his cell phone and saw one new message. It was from Eames. His heart was in his throat and the world went into slow motion as he dragged his eyes across the letters.

"DON'T contact me!"

For an eighth of a second he smiled at her effort to use block letters, an apostrophe, and an exclamation point. The effort meant that she was not yet broken. Then an unseen yet forceful hand with icy fingers strengthened its grip on his heart just a little too firmly. He fell out of his chair ungracefully and collapsed to the floor. His eyes opened and closed for her knew not how many minutes or hours. He clutched at his chest and groaned. Maybe just now he thought he could hears a male voice in the periphery of his mind. _Has someone come to check the smoke alarm? _ he thought. Goren couldn't make out what the man was saying because of the pain in his chest. Then Goren faded to black.


	4. Delayed Reaction

HOSPITAL

Bobby climbed up another level to near consciousness. He was immediately aware of the sound of the heart monitor BEEP BEEP BEEP, and the sanitized hospital smell. It was a scent which did not bring back pleasant memories for him, nor did the fragrance of death which lurked underneath it. He raised his eyelids reluctantly, and was assaulted by the pale green walls and ceiling of the hospital. Pale green was supposed to be calming for patients, but the wrong shade had been chosen and it was everywhere. This was the kind of green that would more likely induce vomiting than prevent it. There were also bright orange curtains on the wall, fortunately, drawn, but he could see the light underneath, which indicated it was daytime. He swallowed, and his throat was sore and dry. He raised his right hand and saw that he was attached to an IV. Then his mind started putting the pieces together. The memories came back in point form.

He'd had an argument with Eames- a bad one. It was even worse than the one they'd had when he came back from suspension. They had a case still to be solved. She said that she hated him. He had burnt some evidence, which set off the smoke alarms. After the alarms stopped, he was sitting at his desk. Something must have happened, but what? His thoughts were interrupted when a nurse entered the room.

"Oh, you're awake Mr. Goren." She drew open the orange curtains mercilessly. He was too groggy to get a headache from it, but his eyes still reacted to the assault of light.

"What happened to me?" His throat was in searing pain. His voice was cracked. The overweight nurse gave him a plastic cup of water, and he sipped it gratefully. He could feel every drop slide painfully down his esophagus.

"You were brought in some time last night. I've only just started my shift, but I'll get your doctor. I was instructed to inform him if you woke up." Before he could ask her any more questions, she left the room. He reached his left hand, and then his IV attached right hand to the stand beside him, groping for his cell phone. No luck!

Then a doctor entered. "Detective Goren, I was told to take special care of you. I'm Doctor PJ Sanjay. How are you feeling?"

Goren looked up at the aging Indian doctor, who was wearing scrubs and a lab coat. "I feel fine. My heart rate's normal," He turned his head to indicate the heart monitor. "What happened doctor?"

"Well I've stayed well past the end of my shift to find out exactly that. Were you self-medicating with apitoxin?"

"Apitoxin?" Goren knew that this was bee venom, and was sometimes used for medicinal purposed to prevent and treat arthritis, among other applications.

"No, I was working a case which involved bees. But I wasn't stung," he added. Goren knew that's something he would have felt.

The doctor nodded. Well you would have had to have been stung by an entire colony to have the amount of apitoxin that showed up in your tox screen. You're lucky you aren't allergic or you'd be dead right now. Anyone with an allergy would have been killed instantly. As it was, you had a mild delayed reaction, which we were able to successfully treat with antihistamines. The problem was the sheer quantity of the venom your system. You became inflamed inside and out," the doctor explained. "We suspected a poisoning, and had to pump your stomach and test the contents. There were only liquid present: coffee, caffeinated energy beverages, guarana, trace amounts of alcohol, and the venom. It was not a pretty combination. The apitoxin induced a massive increased in your production of cortisol, which in turn increased insulin production. That, coupled with your dangerously elevated heart rate, caused you to collapse. You could have easily had a heart attack. You'd been drinking coffee and energy drinks on an empty stomach?"

Goren nodded lightly in acknowledgement. "Had to pull an all-nighter."

"How did the bee venom get in your system?" asked the Doctor. He had to rule out that the detective had deliberately taken it.

"I have no idea," Goren's mind started ticking over. "How long do I have to stay here Doctor Sanjay?"

"Slow down Detective Goren. You know you need official clearance before I can let you go. Your blood pressure's high, your EKG showed an abnormally high heart rate, and you're still recovering from the toxins that were in your system. Your full blood count showed higher than normal liver enzymes and deficiencies in vitamin B, magnesium and zinc. The IV should give you a boost of these nutrients. Unfortunately, your blood sugar is borderline, and I would like to get it tested further to see if it was just the increased cortisol production, or if there's an underlying problem."

"OK doc, but none of that is life-threatening. I've got to get back to my case. I mean someone tried to poison me."

"Look, you'll be kept under observation for the rest of the day. If your next round of tests is normal, you can probably sleep in your own bed tonight, but I'm ordering a day's rest at least. I'm not confident with sending you back to work just yet. If something happens, it'll be my ass as well." He looked down at the strong man in the bed, who nodded at him with acceptance. "I can see you're an intelligent man Detective. You know that I don't have to tell you that your blood pressure, liver enzymes and nutrient deficiencies and insulin levels are warning signs. They may not be life threatening today, but they will be some day soon. I'm not going to ask you if you're currently suffering from stress, I know what you do for a living. But I am going to give you a referral to a colleague of mine."

"Doc, I know what I have to do: lose weight, stop drinking alcohol, exercise, eat better, and relax more," protested Goren. Dr Sanjay was used to stubborn male patients, who pretended to be too strong to see their own weaknesses.

"I know you know, but will you just trust me that this guy can help you do those things."

Goren nodded gruffly, if it were possible to nod gruffly, and noted that the doctor put the referral on top of the bedside drawer. "Thanks Doc, say, is my cell phone around there?"

The doctor rolled his eyes. "You have some visitors who have been waiting all night. Maybe they know where it is." The doctor walked towards the door and turned at the last second, "Good luck finding out who poisoned you, and don't lose that referral."

"Thanks Doc."

Goren was nervous at the thought of seeing Eames, but he was more nervous at the thought that she wasn't there at all. He was also thinking about just who had poisoned him and why. He needed to talk to her. Where was she? He heard footsteps approaching.

"Detective Goren, it's good to see you," said Danny Ross in low tones. There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Thanks Captain," he replied. "What happened?"

"One of the security guards found you around 9pm and called a bus. I was contacted shortly thereafter. Been here all night. We thought you'd had a heart attack. You scared the hell out of us."

"Us?"

"Detective Eames and I."

"How is she?"

"She's worried sick outside. She's talking to the doctor about your condition. I think she was too scared to come in. I guess hospitals aren't her favorite place."

**So she's here**, thought Goren with relief.

"I understand from Eames that you didn't actually have a heart attack. I didn't know she was your medical proxy – it's a good thing she is. If she hadn't been able to get medical updates from the doctor, I'd have been worried I was about to lose my best detective." He gave Goren a little punch on the arm.

"Geez captain, that's my heart attack arm!"

"Quit trying to milk it, Detective."

"Thanks Danny," the use of his first name was not a common event. It may have even been a first.

"For what?"

"For staying here all night and for saying…what you said, even if it was a lie." Ross smiled in confusion before Goren clarified his statement.

"We both know that Eames is your best detective."

"Can I have that in writing?" chimed in a female voice.

"Eames!" Bobby exclaimed brightly, forgetting for a moment what had happened between them. Then he noted how tired she looked, and that she was still wearing the same clothes from the previous day- a light blue top, and dark blue jeans- she mustn't have showered or changed in well over 24 hours. She was looking at him with a mixture of trepidation and relief, but her countenance was trying to stay smooth and unaffected.

"It's good to see you partner. You had us scared." She sounded neutral, impersonal, distant, but at least she was here, and she had called him 'partner'. "The doctor just told me you were poisoned Goren. What happened?"

"Poisoned?" asked Ross. He had not been aware of that fact.

"Apparently, I had an overdose of apitoxin - bee venom. I must have ingested it," he said trying to share his eye contact between them.

"When?"

"How?"

Goren wasn't sure who had asked what, so he addressed Ross to fill him in on the details.

"Eames and I worked the case separately yesterday. While Eames was interviewing the victim's former clients, I went to Brownlow College, up near the border of Connecticut, because the bee box found at the crime scene had a partial stamp on the underside, which wasn't found until forensics pulled it apart looking for DNA or prints, so I headed up there to ask about it." He knew Ross was likely aware of all of this, but it aided Goren in reviewing the events leading up to finding himself in this hospital room.

"Was there any forensic evidence on the box?" Ross asked. He had asked Eames about it earlier, and she had merely shaken her head. He didn't press her for more, because he sensed that she was already on the brink of breaking down and crying. .

Eames interjected. "Nothing viable captain; people tend to use gloves when touching boxes containing live stinging insects."

Goren smiled absently at her sharp tongue before continuing his account. "So I went up to Brownlow unannounced and was greeted by the professor of the Department of Agriculture and Apiculture – a Professor Brian Moses. He offered me a drink." Goren got defensive. "I know I was on-the-job captain, but it was only one small shot, and I needed to build a rapport with him. I could see from his red nose that he enjoyed a drink or two."

Ross held up his hand to indicated that he didn't mind, and for Goren to continue with the story at hand.

Goren nodded inwardly and continued. "It was a honey liqueur that the professor had brewed himself. He called it 'Nectar of the Gods.' When we toasted, I thought it tasted bitter, and it was about 30% alcohol I'd estimate. I suppose it's possible he could have spiked it with apitoxin with an intent to kill me and himself." Goren's last few words were uttered more slowly, and Ross and Eames understood that he was thinking deeply. "He mixed his with vodka, and he consumed far more nectar than I did." Goren recalled. _If he planned to kill himself, why would he care about trying to take me with him?_

Upon hearing this snippet, Ross pulled out his cell, and walked out of the room to make a few calls. Both men were used to not communicating with each other verbally.

After Ross had left, Eames looked down at Goren. He met her eyes with reticence, but only detected concern in them.

"Someone tried to kill you?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, it wasn't me," she joked. He smiled at her lightly, but with his mouth rather than his eyes. She wasn't laughing either.

"Goren, I thought I had caused…," she rubbed her puffy face with her hand where tears might have been shed the previous night.

He couldn't bear it. "Shhh Eames no, no. I'm fine." He wanted to reach out to her, but he was attached to an IV, and she was too far away to reach both physically and emotionally. She turned away from him to hide her face.

"Eames?" he called to her.

She looked back at him, biting her finger and thumb. "When Ross comes back in, I'll tell him that I knew the victim. I almost told him last night."

"You can't do that!" Goren interjected. He could almost imagine the hearing that would have to occur. He couldn't see her be put through such an ordeal.

She looked determined, but he could see she was faltering. "I have to Goren. The only reason I didn't tell him already is that the evidence…you burned it. You could lose your job." _too _ was left unspoken.

Goren let his protest be voiced. "That evidence is not relevant. It has no bearing on the particulars of the case. You can be objective here. I should have seen that earlier, but my curiosity, it always…"

Ross walked back in the room, effectively stopping their conversation. "Well detectives, we won't be questioning Professor Moses. He died last night – he was poisoned. The plot thickens."

Goren started to get up out of his hospital bed, but Ross pushed lightly back at his chest. It wasn't at all aggressive, and it did the trick.

"24 hours until your get the health clearance detective. I can't legally let you work until then. I've called Jefferies and Andrews in on this. They're familiar with the case, and have been doing some legwork for you already. And Detective Eames, I insist you rest at least 10 hours before I let you resume.

Goren and Eames started to talk and splutter in protest. "That's an order detectives. It's still your case; I just need you both safe. This is non-negotiable," Without further ado, Ross walked out of the hospital room as he dialed another number, closing the door behind him to show that he was serious.

Eames rushed to the door after the captain. When her hand reached the door handle, she changed her mind and withdrew her grip. She fished into her pocket and tossed Goren his cell phone. "I just remembered one of the women I interviewed said that her husband was a professor, but she didn't say of what or where. I gotta tell Ross this. I'll keep you informed."

He caught the phone with his free hand and nodded. Then he looked and her and hoped she'd heed his words.

"Eames, you don't have to tell Ross, or me for that matter, anything that's not immediately relevant to solving the case. I want you to know that I trust your judgment on that completely."

She looked torn. Her eyes nodded, though her head stayed still, and then she was suddenly gone from his sight.. Goren took a deep breath, but before he had a chance to let it out, she re-entered the room just as quickly, lingering at the entrance. He looked up at her with both sorrow and hope.

"Goren… just for the record, I don't hate you," she said matter-of-factly; and she was gone before he could reply.

Strong emotions beat at his door. _Can I have that in writing?_ He thought to himself. He also thought himself fortunate. He was alive; she showed no signs that their partnership was over; his job was not in jeopardy. It couldn't be this easy, but he pretended that it was for now. For now he had to find out just who the hell had killed that professor. For now he could not allow himself to dwell on what had transpired between him and Eames the previous night.


	5. Get Rhythm

A/N Thanks to the people who are reading this story. The comments were really interesting.

Bobby lay back in his increasingly uncomfortable hospital bed listening to the irritating cadence of his heart monitor. He wondered whether Eames had noticed his heart rate variations as she entered and exited the room earlier that day. Of course she had; nothing significant ever escaped her notice. He felt an iota of relief that she seemed to have accepted his faltering olive branch, but only one iota. He had not forgotten her extreme reaction in the interrogation room when they had discussed the evidence the previous day. He would never forget the look on her face as he walked towards her to embrace her, and the feeling of dread in his heart as she had backed away. All was not yet right between them, nor might it ever be. But he was not going to give up on her.

Bobby understood that everyone, almost without exception, needed a bottom drawer. This was a drawer in their home, or in their heart, or their head, that held all their private secrets. God knows he had a bulging bottom drawer of his own. It had always been his role as a detective to open that drawer, poke around the contents inside, and expose the secrets to the light. That's how it worked. That's how crimes were solved and it was what caused criminals to unburden themselves. He knew no other way.

The problem here was that Alex was not a criminal, and he did not have a search warrant for her past. He had seen her react negatively to his prying of several occasions, like during the recent Kevin Mulrooney case for instance. When he had asked her (twice!) whether she had slept with Mulrooney, she was evasive. Goren felt he needed to know the nature of their relationship, especially since he suspected Kevin had issues with his sexuality and his own penis. He thought it would give him some insight into motive, but he hadn't explained that fully to her at the time. He couldn't honestly deny that he was curious about Eames' past lovers, but surely his questions about her past intimacy had been just about the case, hadn't it?

There were certain boundaries they rarely crossed as partners or friends, but these boundaries had never seemed to be less clearly defined than this year. Since his return from suspension, what they were, and were not, permitted to talk about was not clear-cut. Something had changed between them and they had somehow both become fearful of breaking each other or their partnership. For his part, he knew it was his mounting feelings of romantic love for her that was responsible. His conviction that these feelings would neither be welcomed nor reciprocated meant that he was keeping her increasingly at arm's length.

The long and the short of it was this, Goren had attempted to open Eames' locked bottom drawer, and she had slammed his fingers shut in it. He was bruised and battered and he knew he would not try to open it again anytime soon. That's why he gave her permission never to talk about it again. He hadn't been lying when he said that he trusted her to tell him only what he needed to know about the case.

He rubbed his head against the small, hard, rough hospital pillow, and closed his eyes to block out the green walls and ceiling. Lying here being unable to do anything was bringing back memories of Tates prison and its aftermath, and of sitting by his mother's sick bed. He still felt groggy. He knew he should be thinking about what was now a double murder, heck very nearly a triple. He needed to compartmentalize and forget about past tragedies and Eames' real or imagined lovers. He rubbed his hands against his forehead and temples to stimulate blood flow, and then he rubbed his cheeks and lips. The motion caused his cerebral cortex to ignite in thought, and he found himself yearning for his binder. Instead he located a notepad and pencil on the stand beside him. He wrote and underlined the heading: _Who had something to gain?_

To his relief, Bobby's results from his afternoon medical tests were all clear. He was now permitted to return to his apartment. He left a message for Ross and Jeffries, but they hadn't called back. He knew Eames had been ordered off the case for ten hours, so he didn't want to disturb her until she contacted him. _DON'T contact me!_ seemed to flash before his mind's eye, and he quickly extinguished the image. Goren felt wide-awake now and was more than ready to get back to work. This case was being thwarted in every which way. Who was responsible?

It felt preposterous that he had to be escorted to the front doors of the hospital in a wheelchair, especially since he had walked to the front desk to sign himself out. He had then called for a cab to take him back to his apartment. He was no invalid; he was an NYPD detective! When the yellow cab pulled up at the front doors, Goren was blindsided by a sudden and brief wave of hurt in reaction to the thought that that no one close to him was there to drive him home. As he got up from his wheelchair, he glanced at the strong male nurse who had wheeled him there and detected pity in his eyes. Goren thanked the nurse and bid him goodbye, blinking the uncomfortable emotion away as he did so. He inexplicably had the urge to explain to this nurse that he had set up his life this way deliberately and that he, Goren, was an independent bachelor, and that was the way he liked it.

Nevertheless, Goren wasn't able to 100% convince himself of his satisfaction with his life as he climbed into the back of the cab. He had changed back into his smelly old suit and underwear, which he had been wearing the previous day; the same day that someone had poisoned him. He blinked a couple more times to make the tightness in his eyes go away. "Brooklyn," he informed the driver. He opened his phone and started scrolling through his inbox. He didn't even realize what he'd been looking for until he couldn't find it. The 'DON'T contact me!' message had vanished. Eames must have deleted it before she returned his phone to him. He blinked and rubbed his eyes a little too often until the cab turned into his street.

The first thing he noticed was a Styrofoam box on the doorstep of his apartment. His initial reaction was nervousness. Boxes in sizes such as this could contain heads or bombs or human hearts. He examined the label tentatively and saw an invoice with his partner's name in the top left corner, . Under that was his own name, R. Goren. **A. Eames and R. Goren**. He had a brief mental flash of himself carving those words into a tree branch and surrounding them with a love heart and arrow. He shook his head. "Must be the medication," he said aloud. The label on the box also showed _Heart Healthy Planet Catering Co_. and he then said, silently this time, _What an asinine name for a company!_ He fumbled with his keys, picked up the box and went inside.

It seemed like a lifetime since he'd been home, but everything looked the same. He set the box down on the counter and opened a window. He absently noted that the place smelt like old coffee. He found a knife and cut the sealed box open and put the lid to one side. The contents consisted of a week's worth of organic, low cholesterol, low sodium, low fat, low calorie, and low whatever else, ready-made meals. It would have cost Eames a fortune. She must have been concerned that he was having heart troubles. This time, he could not blink away the tear before it formed.

The matter of his weight and general health was another issue he kept in his secret bottom drawer, and she understood that she was not allowed to mention it. He had ignored it for a while, but he could not deny that the extra weight had been putting a strain on his knee. He had become increasingly worried that he would not be able to move quick enough to chase down a suspect, but figured in the end that his head would dominate his body and he'd just be able to do it anyway. He had always been able to do the job effectively, and there were detectives (like Jeffries and Andrews) who were a lot older and more out of shape than he was. Still, they weren't partnered with Eames. She didn't put her life in their hands every day. He started packing the food in the fridge. There were bags of carrot sticks, buckwheat pasta Neapolitan, garbanzo curry, lean beef 'StrogaNOT', and other less appetizing stuff. He pulled out the worst sounding meal of the lot 'Superfoods Salad', and figured he'd eat it first. It would be like the opposite of a last meal on death row; it would be his first meal. In a sudden burst of inspiration, he went through his kitchen and refrigerator and dumped package after package in the trashcan. Chips, candy, soda, microwave pizza, cream, brownie mix, white bread, pop-tarts, sugar cereal and cheese were all discarded, not even beer was shown mercy. After this cathartic exercise, he jumped into the shower and lathered himself with soap and shampoo to get the hospital stench off him. He shaved again before toweling himself off and running a comb through his hair. He climbed into a pair of clean black sweatpants and a navy t-shirt, and some thick socks.

He went back to the living room area and sat down on his lazy boy recliner with a fork in hand, declining to turn on the TV. This food looked disgusting and fascinating and definitely colorful enough to hold his attention. It contained lean organic chicken breast, red quinoa grains, avocado, Spanish red onion, French blue lentils along with other yet to be identified 'superfoods'. It was surprisingly good with the accompanying balsamic dressing. Sure it could have been improved with a layer of Parmesan and a beer, but as it stood, it wasn't bad. Besides, it was from Eames.

Meanwhile in another realm, a deity designated that very moment for a knock to be sounded at Bobby's door. He put his fork down, got up and opened the door to be greeted by a face he would rather gaze upon than any other. Eames looked hesitantly up at her partner.

"Thank you," he told her with certain tones in his voice coupled with dark shades in his eyes that showed just how genuinely he meant it. She knew that he was referring to the delivery and she nodded in acknowledgement as she stepped around him and entered. He did not offer to reimburse her for the food she had bought, though he wanted to.

"You're looking a lot better," she commented.

"You too." It hadn't escaped his attention that she had changed her clothes and caught some sleep since she had seen him last. She smelled like vanilla and cinnamon and looked a great deal less tired. She was wearing the requisite black pants, but with a blouse that he knew he had never seen before. It was a rich burgundy, which complemented on her skin and made it glow. Certain colors brought that magic out in her. What caught his attention even more were the matching frills on the blouse. They were not uniform in size, and seemed to be deliberately frayed on the edges. The circular-shaped frills were scattered above and around the bust area, almost like loose petals. It took an extreme amount of discipline for him not to reach up and touch the textures he saw there. She caught him staring, and he averted his eyes. "That's new?" he asked. "It looks nice."

She changed the subject. "What did the doctor say?"

"The tests were all clear. The antihistamine did the trick and there's nothing toxic left in my system. He gave me a referral… but I can go back to work straight away."

She nodded, not asking about the referral. He figured she probably already knew after talking to Dr. Sanjay. He watched as she walked out of the room to the small kitchen and switched on the kettle. She then strode past and clanged around in the other room. She returned with his whiteboard on wheels and a couple of markers.

"Well let's get back to work then," she said, tossing him a marker. He raised one eyebrow and grinned, displaying his gleaming teeth. Bobby Goren was back.

Over the next two or three hours, they were back in their old rhythm. It was a dance they knew so well, that they could do it without touching. Eames filled him in on everything she found out from Jeffries, Andrews, and Ross. She told him that Professor Brian Moses' body had been found in his office at Brownlow College and that the surveillance footage of the college, just like the first murder at the hotel, had been corrupted. They each started to scrawl on the whiteboard, while Eames sucked down sugary coffee. The whiteboard was covered with names and they had even drawn some inoffensive graphic representations of the males and females connected to the case. They had compiled a list of potential suspects, and discussed possible motives for each killing

The first, and most obvious suspect was Mrs. Emaline Moses. A toss of her apartment had turned up several vials of apitoxin, the venom used to kill her husband and to poison Bobby. However, seeing that her husband was a professor of apiculture and would likely have the substance in the home, she could not be detained on that. Her alibi for the Gatehouse murder was fairly tight. The night William Gatehouse, her paid lover, was murdered; she was out celebrating her girlfriend's fiftieth birthday at a restaurant in Chelsea with some friends. There were many witnesses. After that she went home, and her cell phone records showed that she had not been anywhere near the hotel room in Queens where Gatehouse's body had been found. She had even made several calls to his number throughout the night and left short messages. As his cell phone had not been found, the phone company was currently being harassed to produce the messages.

"She seemed genuinely upset when I interviewed her and told her of Gatehouse's death," recalled Eames.

"OK, so she didn't kill him. But maybe when she realized that her husband did it, she spiked his honey liqueur to give him a taste of his own medicine, a revenge killing." He was not happy with his theory that there were two separate murderers. There was a much higher probability of there being only one.

Eames looked at Goren, contemplating this. "She's reportedly extremely upset over her husband's death. She had to be sedated and is still at home. Anyway, that poison's not necessarily deadly. It might have taken weeks before the professor finally consumed a large enough dose to kill him. The honey liqueur may have been tampered with prior to Gatehouse's murder. There's no way of knowing either way. Even if her prints are found on the bottle after it's tested tomorrow, it doesn't mean she spiked it. She could have touched it or drunk from it herself while visiting him at work," Eames shuddered. "I'm just glad you didn't drink as much of it as he did yesterday afternoon." She was sitting on the couch beside his lazy boy and she momentarily glanced sideways at him, perhaps checking he was really there, before looking away and sighing heavily.

"You and me both," he replied gently. Her skin had not touched his even inadvertently all night. He wanted to touch her hand now, but couldn't. He felt like an adolescent around her at times. He even consoled himself with the notion that although she had not touched him, she had used his fork to finish his salad. She didn't wipe it first either. He quickly stood up before he said or did something regrettable, and distracted himself by drawing some red squares and black lines on the whiteboard, making the connections which were flowing through his mind. He could feel her gaze on his back, _and his butt?_ Wherever she was looking, the sensation was not unpleasant. He got down on his knees and wrote at the bottom of the whiteboard in 'Goren' shorthand. When he was done, he sat down in his lazy boy chair and they both stared at the whiteboard while she read it out to him.

"Theory one is that Professor Moses killed William Gatehouse after finding out about the sexual relationship he was having with his wife. However, it's unclear why he would use bees to kill him, since it would increase his chances of getting caught. Why leave the bees and the bee box when all other evidence was removed or tampered with?" It was a good point, and one that they hadn't figured out yet. Eames continued.

"Then, after finding out about her lover's death, Mrs. Moses went to the college and poisoned her husband in a revenge killing because she was in love with Gatehouse," she looked at Goren for conformation that she was reading his notes correctly. He nodded with his fingers splayed around his cheeks, eyes, and temples, the pinkies resting on either side of his lips. His slightly too long hair was curling in all directions after its shampoo. He was listening and thinking intently.

"OK, theory number two is that a third party with something to gain from both deaths tried to set up the Moses couple for both murders. So who do you like for theory two?" asked Eames. "Zachery? Another client of Gatehouse who was jealous of his relationship with Emaline Moses?" she suggested.

Goren shrugged his shoulders and stroked his lips with a glazed look in his eyes. He spoke slowly. "Perhaps, but I think it'd have to be someone who's confident with handling bees, and could enter a hotel with a box of them without anyone ever noticing. I'm thinking maybe a colleague of the professor who might have known of his marital woes". Goren recalled that during his brief conversation with Professor Moses, he had mentioned an angry PHD student. That might be a place to start, but what could this student have to gain? The use of the bee box as a murder weapon had apparently ruined his controlled experiment for his thesis. Besides, how could he know that William Gatehouse was allergic to bees? Goren put this theory into a corner of his mind to marinate overnight. He suddenly yawned.

Eames piped up, "You must be tired!" She then yawned herself, covering her hand with her mouth. It was contagious. Goren knew she had skipped a night's sleep keeping vigil for him at the hospital, and had probably only caught a couple of hours since. Apart from finishing off his 'super' salad, she hadn't eaten either.

"Well, you wouldn't let me drink any coffee!" he protested jokingly. It was true; she had made him peppermint tea instead. She looked over at him and he couldn't read her multi-faceted expression under her long hair. Concern, relief, fatigue, regard and annoyance seemingly crossed her eyes simultaneously. She seemed about to say something, but then changed her mind and stood up.

"I'm going to head home and get some sleep. You should go to bed too. I want you clearheaded in the morning, so you can reunite with your precious binder," she rolled her eyes with humor at that. "I'll pick you up at 7.00am sharp. We'll try and get Mrs. Gatehouse in for questioning at nine if she's up to it." He started to get up with the intention of walking her to the door, but she gestured with a finger that he should stay put, so he obeyed. "Don't forget to take your meds," she instructed with the same finger.

He nodded in conformity. He longed to say something more to her. Throughout the evening there had been a gargantuan two-headed albino elephant in the room. It was still standing right there, and neither of them had dared acknowledge its existence. They had not talked about their fight, Eames' connection to Gatehouse or Mrs. Moses reasons for seeing a male escort. He gathered from his partner's silence that she had decided against telling Ross about her past connection to the escort. He would just have to accept that.

"Good night Eames, and thanks for everything." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "Is there anything I can do for you?" He wasn't exactly sure why he had asked that. He just felt it was a good time to let her know that he could be there for her too.

"Yeah, you can help me solve this case tomorrow." She turned from him then and her tone of voice had been neutral, as it had been most of the night. He called out to her to drive safe, but she was already out the door.

He got up from his recliner, taking one last glance at the whiteboard. At some point Eames must have cleared up their mugs and the salad package while he was off in a trance. He walked into the kitchen and found no mugs in the sink, and no smell of old coffee. He flipped open the trashcan lid with his foot. The superfoods salad container was in there, though the_ Heart Healthy Planet Catering Co_. probably would have preferred it to be recycled. That meant that Eames must have seen that he had thrown out all his junk food and beer. He felt absurd pride at that. His detective's eyes noted one other small change in his kitchen; the referral that Dr. Sanjay had given him was magneted to the fridge. She'd found it and put it there.

He crawled into bed with a smile. Although the murder case was whirring and processing in a far corner of his mind, at the forefront were warm thoughts: the meals, her visit, the referral and the fact that she was going to pick him up and drive him to work in the morning. All this must mean that she still cared. He drifted off to sleep thinking not of the murders, but of vanilla and cinnamon, the burgundy frills on her blouse, and the glow of her skin.


	6. Needs

Bobby awoke in his bed the next morning at 5.45am feeling surprisingly good considering he'd just been poisoned. It was always a blessing when he slept well because that didn't happen very often. The erratic hours and traumatic cases meant that his sleep was irregular. He often couldn't fall asleep for hours because he wasn't able to switch his brain off. However, last night he'd slept well.

Bobby got up, still in boxers and navy t-shirt and reached for last night's towel, which was draped over his treadmill. The treadmill had come to serve as a really expensive towel rack in recent years. This morning he decided to turn it on, dusting it with the towel as he did so. It came to life and he mounted it and started pacing slowly, trying to recall the last time he had used it.

After his mother was diagnosed with leukemia, he had fallen into a depression. Despite recognizing the symptoms, he initially ignored them. He focused only on his job, and his mother. After she died, the turmoil and stress in his life continued in ways he did not want to dwell on. Dr Olivet prescribed him anti-depressants, and it took very dark thoughts one evening to spur him to fill the prescription. Of course, he did meticulous research first. He did not believe that mental illness was a weakness; it was something that could and should be treated. The serotonin levels in his brain were likely almost non-existent, and boosting them naturally would be a long and arduous process. So, unbeknownst to anyone but Olivet, he started taking the anti-depressants.

They were supposed to take about 6 weeks to become effective, and he was instructed to continue taking them for eighteen months at least. Unfortunately, nothing was that simple. Side effects for such medications vary from person to person. Most are lucky enough not to have any. However, not even a week had passed before Bobby's started. He began having bouts of lucid and terrifying nightmares several times a night. They were in colour and some were so disgusting and distressing that he could not shake them even in the daytime. Some included his biological father, and the acts he had read about or come across in cases. Some were of demons sucking him dry. Bobby also dreamed that he stalked and murdered his loved ones, and he sometimes believed it upon waking. He called Dr Olivet, who quickly recommended a switch in brands, dosage, and the time of day to take them.

The second brand he tried did not cause nightmares. He took them for several months, and recorded the side effects. Although his dark and hopeless thoughts had eased, he had lost his sex drive completely. He had no desire to even masturbate, let alone have sex. Another side effect was weight gain. He put on twenty pounds at least. Rather than try a third brand, Bobby weaned himself off them slowly and decided to take on depression on his own. He failed. He found himself having thoughts that he was permanently cursed. Declan Gage's 'freedom' project only confirmed his theory. Everything in his life including friends, hobbies, and interests dropped away. During his suspension, he had many hours to brood on the dark nature of the world, and started to neglect himself even further. He ceased cooking, and relied on only fast food, and he cut off all contact with his job, and with Eames. He started drinking at the local bar regularly. Then one night, Stoates had approached him. It was fate. Of course Bobby got his job back, and that went a long way in giving him back his focus. But his ruptured relationship with Eames, and finding a dead rat in his desk didn't help his depression in any way. However, he was lately feeling that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

For one thing, he was in love. Even though it was not mutual, it was making him feel good. For another thing, he was still alive when it very well could have gone the other way. He was going to take Dr. Sanjay's warning about his blood test results seriously, and was determined to avoid any future health problems. He had been given the crate of healthy food as a gift, and as he increased the incline on the treadmill, he suddenly believed again that exercise was a natural anti-depressant. It was going to take a multi-faceted approach to get his life on track, and he understood that it wouldn't happen overnight.

After showering and brushing his teeth, Bobby picked out his best suit. Actually, his very best suits didn't fit anymore. He had sold a few when he needed money, but kept a few favorites in the back of the closet. He hadn't lost hope that he'd fit into them again one day. The suit he chose today was a well-fitting light gray one, and he picked out a rich burgundy tie that reminded him of Alex's blouse. He chose his nicest socks, a crisply pressed white dress shirt, and shined his shoes for good measure. His badge, holster, and gun were with Ross apparently; he would get them back later. After looking in the mirror, and combing his clean hair, he was ready to face the day.

Eames drove up to his apartment block right on time with two Starbucks coffees resting on a cardboard tray in his seat.. He smiled as he saw them in the car. He picked them up and got in.

"Please tell me mine's not decaf!" he begged. She looked at him and smiled, shaking her head to indicate that it wasn't. Her eyes lingered just a little longer than necessary on him. He wondered if she'd noticed the extra effort he'd put in on his appearance.

"Did you bring the food?" she nodded at his bag, as she pulled out onto the street.

"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner just in case. Thanks again."

"Well let's hope we can crack the case before dinner," she said. They both sipped on their coffees in silence while she drove.

Bobby and Alex were not the first to arrive to level eleven of One Police Plaza. They usually were, but today Nichols and Wheeler were already pored over their desks, studying some photographs with magnifying glasses. Wheeler looked up with a bright smile.

"Welcome back Goren. Sorry I didn't visit you at the hospital. I wanted to, but they released you so quickly. How are you?"

"I'm feeling fine actually," he answered bashfully. He rubbed the back of his head. Although Wheeler had been around for a few years, he hadn't interacted with her as much as he should have, probably because she'd initially gotten the job through knowing Ross. However, she had proven herself to be a good detective, and a good partner.

"Well, you look great buddy," added Nichols with genuine happiness.

"Thanks Zack I feel fine now." Bobby had a lot of time for Zack Nichols, and thought that they had a lot in common, except for the fact that Nichols had a much better relationship with Ross.

"Well anything we can do to help," he added. The rest was left unspoken, but Bobby understood. As they seemed engrossed, Bobby and Alex left them to it and went over to their desks.

There it lay, ready and waiting for him! (Though someone had looked through it, he mentally noted with chagrin). It was his other partner, his trusty (sexy) brown leather binder. It had been eagerly awaiting his return. He reached out to open it.

"I'll leave you two alone for a moment," snarked Alex. She walked off to locate the particulars of their case. He watched her walk away with an unprofessional interest. He thought she looked really good today with fitted black jeans, and her police badge pinned on the front hip. She had been wearing a brown leather jacket until she'd taken it off upon arrival at 1PP, revealing a tight black tank top. He'd always liked her slightly muscular upper arms, and he didn't get to see them often enough. His partner was small, and pretty when she needed to be, but she was no delicate flower. She was in fact, totally badass. Quick with her gun, and quick with her tongue, and that was the way he liked it. He knew that he had the best partner in the whole NYPD, and he was proud that everyone else kinda knew it too.

Jeffries and Andrews arrived moments later and welcomed Bobby back. He had been uncertain of the two detectives since he had found a dead rat in his desk. He probably could have found out who'd done it if he'd probed, but he decided to leave it alone and the harassment had gone no further. However, the two detectives seemed pleased that he hadn't died and even more pleased to return the case to Goren and Eames. They had their own fish to fry, and had been overworked. After a briefing, and a changeover, they were free to work the case.

Ross strolled in the office, surveying it with a smile. He looked surprised and satisfied that the bullpen was already buzzing so early. He approach Bobby and extended his hand, "Welcome back detective." Bobby gripped it, and they shook hands warmly.

"Thank you Captain."

"You left the hospital so quickly yesterday. Elizabeth was going to pick you up, but when she called, you'd already left." Bobby nodded. He felt a little embarrassed by the whole conversation. He knew Ross and Rodgers were seeing each other, but they had never openly discussed it. "You got Mrs. Moses coming in?" Ross asked.

"Yeah, at 9am we hope," replied Eames.

"Better make it 10am," recommended Ross. "Goren can't legally start working until then. 24 hour health clearance and all that."

10AM INTERROGATION ROOM

Bobby and Ross were observing and listening to Eames in the interrogation room through the two-way glass. She and Bobby agreed that this would be the best approach, since Eames had already interviewed Mrs. Moses in her own home, and they seemed to have already established a rapport. Bobby wasn't sure Eames was ready to be in an interrogation room with him again anyway. The memory of their last conversation was still present and raw.

It could be observed that Mrs Emaline Moses, despite the grief on her face, was not an unattractive woman. She looked about 135-140 pounds and was of medium height. She had dark blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, though Bobby guessed that this was not her usual style. Her thin lips were covered with a light coating of lipstick. She had not made up her hazel eyes, which had been recently crying. He noted that her eyebrows were plucked, and her body was toned. Although she was not overly wealthy, here sat a well-maintained woman. She was wearing a beige knee-length skirt, and a white silk blouse. She looked like she was going to work, though she couldn't possibly be considering it. She in fact worked part-time at a non profit organisation on 5th Avenue, and earned a modest salary for it. Her birth date put her current age at 46. It had been made clear to her that she was here as a material witness, not a suspect. Once Alex had given her condolences, the questioning began.

"How was your marriage with your husband?"

"It wasn't a marriage. It hadn't been a marriage for years, since before the kids left home. We were more like roommates. Not even that, since he slept at the College a lot during the week. He often didn't come back from work until the weekends," she explained.

"Was there another woman?"

"I doubt it. John was not interested in sex."

"Did you love John?" Eames copied her usage of the deceased husband's first name.

She nodded, "I did and still do. He was the father of my children. God, if they find out what I've done.." Eames reached over and patted her on the hand.

"What you've done?"

"I killed him. I mean, not with my own hands, but it must have happened because of me. When they find out that I've being seeing Billy…"

"They don't necessarily need to know Emaline. We'll see what we can do," promised Eames warmly.

"Emi, call me Emi. That's what my friends call me," she looked up at Eames with trust.

"Is that what William Gatehouse called you?"

Emi nodded. "And I called him Billy. He was a good friend to me. He was more than my boyfriend, my lover. He was the person I liked best in the world."

"So your relationship was more than just professional?"

"You have to understand. My husband drank; he ignored me. He was away a lot. We hadn't had a conversation about anything real in ten years. He was only interested in his job. When I met William… I wasn't in love with him straight away. I liked his body, and the way he touched me," she looked ashamed, but the shame seemed to dissipate after she looked over at Eames. "You understand don't you Alex, I can feel that you do," Emi held on to both of Eames' hands for dear life. She hadn't been able to discuss William with anyone since it happened. She looked starved with her need to talk about him. "Billy, he…"

"Fulfilled a need," finished Eames. "A need that all human beings have, a need to be held, a need to be touched, to be listened to, understood, comforted, to feel safe and accepted."

Bobby stared through the glass as Eames' words wafted in waves around him. She knew he was watching on the other side of the glass. Did she understand that he had those needs too? He had known for a while now that he wanted all those things from Eames, and wanted to give them to her too. Bobby now had no doubts that Eames had turned to William Gatehouse in an effort to address those needs seven or so years ago, and it cut him to the quick. He had been right there next to her every day, and she had never even considered turning to him. Only Eames' back was visible to Bobby, but he could imagine the sympathy in her eyes right now. He was listening so intently, that he visibly started when Ross spoke up. He had been so transfixed that he had forgotten Ross was standing beside him.

"She's very empathic, your partner," commented Ross.

Bobby didn't respond. He lifted one hand from his folded arms and rubbed his lips with his fingers. He could have heard a pin drop.

"After a while, it wasn't just the sex. He talked to me; he was interested in what I did, what I had to say. He even wrote me poetry. I fell in love with him." Eames nodded with understanding.

"Did you… always pay him?"

"Well, it was his job," she said with a hint of defense in her voice. "He'd stay longer than he had to, just to be with me."

"So you met with him just once a week?"

"Well that's all I could afford. It was usually once, on a Wednesday. Sometimes in the daytime we'd go to a show, sometimes to a hotel in the evening. I called him a lot, he never charged me for calls. I never brought him home to my apartment or my husband's bed," she clarified defensively.

"Are you sure your husband didn't know?"

"I don't think so. Well, he never let on if he did. I used the money that I earned." That seemed to be a kind of justification for Emaline Moses.

"Did you tell anyone about Wil…Billy? Did your friends know? Were any of your friends seeing him too?"

"It was hard not to mention him to people, but he was mine. He was just for me. It's humiliating you know; people could misunderstand. I know that one of my friends was seeing him at one stage because she had given me the card, but we never talked about it."

"You said you knew that Billy had a bee allergy?"

"Yeah, he mentioned it the first time I told him what my husband did for a living."

"Why didn't you tell me your husband worked with bees when I first interviewed you?" asked Eames.

"I couldn't believe that he'd done it. I didn't want to think that the father of my children was capable of murder." Eames nodded.

"Emi, I need you to think carefully. Did you ever tell your husband, or anyone, that Billy had a bee allergy, one that could kill him?"

Emaline contemplated the question. "I never told my husband. My husband didn't kill Billy this way. He was a gentle man, weak even." She was firm on this.

"We're not convinced your husband did it either."

Rogers and Jeffries had established that Professor Brian Moses had been alone in his upstate office all evening the night that William Gatehouse was murdered in Queens. Professor Moses had no human alibi to attest to his whereabouts, but he had been logged on to his faculty computer throughout the evening. He had commented on forum posts and sent emails with timestamps. Despite the fact that this could be faked by someone in possession of his password, it seemed unlikely he'd go to so much effort to establish an alibi, and then simply drive to Queens and murder his wife's lover. If he had done so, why would he leave behind an easily traceable bee box from his own college faculty? Why then take the time to disable security footage, clean up evidence, and dispose of Gatehouse's cell if he could be so easily caught?

After searching her memory banks for past conversations about bee allergies, Emi continued, "I had a personal policy of never talking to my husband about his work. Years of experience taught me that if I asked one innocent question, he would not shut up for the rest of the night. I just got so sick of hearing it, though I admired his enthusiasm," she added as an afterthought.

"One day I went to visit him at Brownlow. He'd invited me to a faculty lunch. Of course, he ignored me throughout, and I got to chatting to a colleague of his. He was yet another bee guy going on about bees. I got the feeling he was trying to schmooze up to me because he knew I was the boss's wife. To keep things from drifting to personal topics, I told him that a friend of mine had a bee allergy. Well, that set him off. He advised me that my friend should visit an allergy specialist to start venom immunotherapy. He said it would take 10-20 weeks of minute doses of venom to build immunity. He said that this needed to be followed up with a maintenance dosage at half-year intervals for many years afterwards. He asked for my friend's number to see if he could get him into a free immunotherapy trial."

"So did you give him Billy's number? Did you tell him Billy's name?"

"No, I told him I'd talk to Billy about it. I probably mentioned his first name because I so rarely got to talk about him to anyone. It feels good when I can say 'Billy' aloud. I definitely didn't mention his surname. I'm not that silly. I actually did bring up the matter to Billy a week or so later, but he wasn't interested. He said it was unlikely he'd ever be stung anyway, and so it would not be worth the effort." She broke out in sobs then. "I should have made him do the trial. He wouldn't have died. He must have been terrified. Who would do this to him?"

"Mrs Moses," said Eames with authority to cut through the emotion. "Do you remember this colleague's name?"

"Sure, he called me a few times. David, David Dryden."

Eames turned around and looked into the two-way glass.

"Good girl," said Ross.

"Bingo!" said Bobby. He would bet his binder that David Dryden was doing a PHD. They were going to close this case today; he could almost smell it.


	7. The Worker Bee

There wasn't really any evidence to implicate David Dryden in either the murder of his colleague Brian Moses, or William 'Billy' Gatehouse. He had no criminal record, not even a speeding ticket; and they were a long way from identifying a motive and making an arrest in the case. Even so, Goren sensed that he had his killer before he had even met the guy.

Approaching him as a material witness suited Goren just fine. He wanted to feel him out, get him to talk. Goren was deciding whether to slink up to Brownlow College and strike in Dryden's own territory or lure him down to New York City, Eames was in favor of going up to Brownlow.

She drove. That's what she did. There was no small talk between them. Goren rode shotgun, and his eyes were fused to a computer screen while his fingers tapped the keyboard with his fingers in a kind of symphony. First he scanned and read information on Dryden's thesis proposal and research projects, discarding what he didn't need. Then he started to process the particulars.

It could have been raining hazelnuts outside, and Goren wouldn't have noticed. He was smack bang in the Goren realm where thoughts swirled around his gray matter until they took form into a tight whorl. Although sound waves from the world outside penetrated his ear canal, they quickly took refuge in the protected hollows inside his skull. The relevance of the sounds and words he heard would be processed in due time. It could be thirty seconds, or it could be a week. They would just have to wait for their meaning to be made.

"Goren, do you want to stop or not?" asked Eames. He knew she had asked that same question a few times, but this was the first time he really heard and understood it. He never misinterpreted her loud tone as impatience. He knew she knew the score.

"Just a minute," he said, and his palm and five fingers extended and hung in the air between them like a defensive shield. A minute turned into an hour and then some. Her question went unanswered. Neither nature nor caffeine cravings had the courage to come calling while Goren was in the zone.

When they alighted from their black SUV at Brownlow College, Goren failed to note certain visual details because he'd already catalogued them on his last visit. Details like the grounds being at least ten shades of green, and the relaxed students loitering all over them. There were orange and yellow fruit orchids in the distance around which white wooden makeshift beehives stood on stilts, resembling birdcages. Normally Goren's detective eye would observe these details with more attention, but he was too busy strategizing. Despite his mental drifting, he knew that Eames was right beside him, taking two steps for his one. She was forever ready to work or play.

The reception area of the administration office of the Faculty of Agriculture and Apiculture was rather sterile and unwelcoming. Visitors had to sign in at a counter, which had a silver bell resting on its surface. Goren looked at Eames for permission, and her eyes granted it, even though she shook her head. There was no real need to ring the bell, as there was a young woman twelve feet away. Goren pressed it anyway, and it rang out. He did so like toys.

The admin officer who greeted them went by the name of Melissa. Goren did not recognize her from his last visit. On that occasion, a much older woman had led him to Professor Moses' office. He noticed Melissa's magnetic nametag and greeted her with a smile as he flashed his badge. He rested his brown leather binder (he was going to have to name that thing) on the surface of the counter as he signed the visitors' book. Melissa's eye contact and body language indicated an eagerness to please him, so he rested his elbows on the counter to lower himself down to her line of sight. Noting she was not wearing a ring, he made sure his unadorned fingers were on display by adjusting the clip on his solid blue tie.

At first glance, she was merely a pretty girl, but taking a longer look would definitely reward any beholder. She wore a smart light gray matching suit jacket and skirt, and had a lovely petite form. A definite asset was her long glossy black hair, worn loose. But it was dark eyes and smile that transformed her from something out of the common way. Goren suddenly had an urge to know if she had a touch of Asian or Hawaiian in her genes. He estimated her age at around 22- much too young for him - but he nonetheless picked up on her readiness to flirt. Goren still naively believed that women responded this way to most male cops. He soon had her engaged in conversation.

Without checking, he understood that Eames had left to take a look around in order to leave him alone with Melissa. The latter soon spilled that David Dryden was on an annual scholarship, which would only be renewed based on performance. It had been renewed six year's in a row, but the committee was getting nervous at his lack of solid results. Dryden had the ambition of gaining a professorship at the college, but it would require some teaching and grading, which he apparently thought was beneath him.

"Has David ever tried to, y'know, ask you out?" asked Goren, raising his eyebrows and looking at her as though the guy'd be crazy if he hadn't.

"No way! I don't think he's interested in…people. And even if he were…"

"What?"

"I don't know exactly what a scurvy dog is, but I heard that phrase once."

Goren laughed aloud at this, and it wasn't a fake laugh. Melissa's eyes weren't the only feature that set her apart from ordinariness, as this comment was totally unexpected. He had seen several images of Dryden online, and based on that photo; she wasn't far off the mark. He felt a little guilty for laughing.

"So he doesn't have a girlfriend?"

"Definitely not. I don't even think he has any friends."

"Did he get along with Professor Moses?" Goren had already given his condolences on that score.

"Not overly. I think there was some tension there about the research they were doing. Professor Moses was his advisor."

"What, so did this tension begin just over the past few days, after the bee box was stolen?" Goren knew from his last visit that the stolen box had affected some sort of controlled experiment.

"No, it had been going on a while. The grapevine has it that his scholarship was at risk for some reason, and Dryden was mad because it had been promised to him."

Goren knew to nod and stay quiet so she would continue talking.

"Anyway, Dryden can relax now. He's very much needed in the faculty. It's in total chaos until a replacement can be found; it could take months. It's quite shocking how news gets around though. I'm alone here today and I've been fielding calls and emails from all over the country, even some from overseas. The callers express their regrets and ask details of where to send flowers, but they're really just trying to find out if there is a position available. You'd think they'd at least wait until the body's cold."

"Well in the present economy, an academic would kill for tenure." He noticed that Melissa shuddered at his implication as she recalled the real purpose of his visit.

"Well, I'll call David for you. Maybe he can help you find out who killed the Professor."

"Thank you Melissa. You've been a wonderful help. I really appreciate it." He meant it. He also appreciated her nod and half wink as she arranged a meeting with Dryden. Perhaps this shaving and wearing a nice suit deal wasn't such a bad idea. Why had he stopped doing it?

Melissa hung up the phone. "He said he'd meet you and your partner outsides the Professor's office. I could show you," she offered.

"It's OK, I've been there before." He didn't tell her he'd been poisoned there. He gave Melissa his card, and asked her to call him if she thought of anything relevant. He turned around with the intention of seeking Eames, but found she was already back and standing behind him. He wasn't sure if what he saw was a wounded look in her eye, or merely irritation. He felt a blush creep up the back of his neck as though he had been caught with another woman. He'd flirted with women right in front of her a million times during their investigations, but he felt guilty all the same. "Let's go. Dryden's waiting."

To call him a scurvy dog was harsh. He was definitely slightly built, and his legs were skinny. In a strange contrast, his torso and upper arms seemed stronger, probably from hauling around bee equipment. He was nudging six foot, with a greasy forehead and equally greasy reddish brown hair, which needed cutting. He looked kind of neglected, but Goren could see from his clear brown eyes that he had a sharp mind.

Dryden's reedy voice spoke out. "You must be detective Goren, and you are?"

"Detective Eames, Major Case." They each shook his hand.

"I'm sorry we couldn't meet under more pleasant circumstances or in a more pleasant place," the student continued.

They were standing outside Professor Moses' office where his body had been found. The open office door was still blocked off with yellow and black striped crime scene tape. Goren looked inside, recalling the last time he had been in there and drunk the 'Nectar of the Gods'. Dryden interrupted his memory.

"I'm kind of getting to like the police tape; it sort of seems like a tribute." Dryden smiled to see if they would understand that the color and pattern of the tape resembled bees.

"So I believe your thesis is on the genetics of worker bees," stated Goren. Just for a moment, Dryden's mask fell before it was placed over his face once again. The comment had clearly surprised him.

"Yeah, it is. Let me take you to the garage, and we can talk there." Eames glanced at Goren to show her surprise that he wasn't trying to get rid of them in a hurry.

The 'Garage' was a medium sized factory-like unit with a computer, a table, and a kitchenette in the front section. Just behind the closed door, Goren could here the buzzing of thousands of bees in the room beyond. He briefly wondered what the creatures were talking to each other about.

"Coffee, tea?" Offered Dryden. "Or perhaps I could interest you in a honey liqueur?"

"My partner was offered that last time he was here. He didn't really take to it," said Eames.

"Oh, you were the cop who was poisoned? I'm glad you've recovered so quickly." Dryden's voice sounded genuine enough.

"Fortunately, I wasn't allergic. I had some sort of delayed reaction though," explained Goren.

"Yeah, that can happen in a small percentage of the population. You should watch it next time Detective. You could develop an increased sensitivity. It could be dangerous if you're stung. I have a friend who's an allergist; you should give me your number, your card I mean, and I'll get him to call you."

Goren didn't know whether it was a threat, or an offer to help. Maybe the guy felt guilty about inadvertently poisoning him. Dryden clearly had no idea that Goren was aware that he had made the same offer of the allergist to Emaline Moses. Only an interrogator of Eames' caliber could have mined that gem.

"You got the allergist's card?" asked Goren. He would call this allergist the first chance he got, but not about his own health.

Dryden went to his computer and located the email address of the allergist. Goren then bent down towards the keyboard and typed in his Major Case email into the 'forward' field. Dryden seemed satisfied with the transaction. "It's probably nothing, but you should contact him anyway, just to be on the safe side."

"Will do," said Goren. There was silence in the air as Goren looked around at Dryden's books, which were all scientific, and personal possessions. There were no photographs, and everything was orderly.

"Actually, I _would_ like a cup of coffee," said Eames. Goren looked at her, alarmed. . He was momentarily afraid of her being poisoned, though quickly realized that it would be highly unlikely.

"How do you take it?"

"Black, three sugars."

Goren declined.

Dryden gestured for them to sit down at the table on the rickety wooden chairs while he made her coffee. When he brought it over, the mug was accompanied by a jar of honey, with a piece honeycomb floating inside its golden glass cage.

"Sorry, no sugar around these parts," said Dryden.

Eames shrugged and dripped some honey into her mug with interest. Goren was no longer worried about her being poisoned; he was more worried about the sudden tingling in his groin area. There was something about Eames holding a spoonful of dripping honey that caused a pleasant, but still unwanted, reaction below his navel. He continued to watch her as she blew gently at the top of the mug and took a sip. "It's good!" she said approvingly. "I'm surprised. I've only ever tried honey in tea."

"It's the best honey on the east coast, and made right here with our trees and our bees; it's totally organic." Goren noted that Dryden did not appear to have any kind of attraction to Eames.

Goren snapped out of his. "So your thesis is about worker bees?"

Dryden still looked bewildered at his interest. "Yes, I'm trying to isolate a 'worker' gene."

"What do you mean?" asked Eames.

"Well basically I study the worker bees' flight patterns by filming them; they communicate through flight you know. That's how they tell each other the location of nectar. I then put weights on their bodies, kind of like tiny screw-on ball bearings. When they're weighed own, it affects their movement, and behaviour."

"So can they still do their jobs and fly weighed down like that?" asked Goren.

"It would seem they can't; some of the hives have starved and died because of it."

"Your research is a success then?"

"Well it's a work in progress. I think it will be very significant, yes."

"Do you think there is a worker gene in humans too?" asked Goren.

"Most definitely I believe that. And what's more, I'm sure you two have it."

Goren and Eames looked at each other; it was true that they were both workaholics who served the community.

"And I guess you do as well," commented Eames, gesturing around at his workspace.

"No rest for the wicked!" acknowledged Dryden.

_Are you wicked?_ wondered Goren. He had already gleaned that Dryden must be familiar with cameras and their software for his research. He would know how to disable and destroy the camera footage right here at the college, and at the Queens hotel. He likely had the scientific smarts to destroy all the other evidence too. There was a frustrating lack of it in this case. It had been days since the first body had been found, and still they had nothing on him. Goren sensed vulnerability in Dryden about his PhD research, and decided to test this theory.

"So when I visited the Professor the other day, he mentioned that you were angry about the stolen bee box that was used in the Gatehouse murder. He said it might have compromised your results."

"Yeah, it was a setback. It's nothing that couldn't be rectified though, over time. Brian Moses' death was a much bigger setback."

_Over time_, thought Goren. Dryden had been researching for six years. He could see from his workspace that David Dryden was a perfectionist and perfectionists were often chronic procrastinators.

"Your scholarship was due to be renewed then."

"I had no reason to believe otherwise, though it's not for me to decide."

"Well Melissa says it's a shoe-in now. Does that mean you're going to have to perform the professor's duties?"

"He only just died, and his computer's been taken away for evidence. No one else knows how this place runs. As his right-hand man, I guess it's my duty to take his place temporarily."

"Were you two close?" asked Eames with a touch of concern.

"I haven't thought about that. We were intellectually close, but not best friends or anything. We rarely talked about anything personal."

"Rarely? Did he ever talk to you about his relationship with his wife?" asked Eames. Goren was certain she had noticed his lack of affect at the professor's death.

"Do you and your partner think she poisoned her husband?" asked Dryden. "I can't believe that. Mrs. Moses seems like such a lovely woman."

"Well she's one possibility. But I suppose anyone who had access to his office could have tampered with that liqueur bottle at any time. She could have just poisoned him at home if she wanted to. Why do it here?" commented Eames.

"I guess so, but she would be the obvious and only suspect if her husband had been murdered at home. Here at Brownlow, there are more possibilities," said Dryden.

"Like who?" asked Goren suddenly.

"Well you're talking to me, aren't you?" shot back Dryden.

Goren laughed and patted him on the back. He had peaked the student's interest, and got his back up. "Relax, relax Dave. We actually are here for your insight on this. It seems that you and the professor spend more time here than anyone," replied Goren.

"He did sleep in an empty dorm bed most nights. I think things weren't going so well at home over the past couple of years or so."

"Any idea why?" asked Eames, getting Dryden's attention back on her. Dryden paused, considering his words.

"We didn't usually talk about personal matters."

Goren understood that. Neither did he and Eames. Maybe people with close working relationships who spent hours in each other's company had to have such boundaries.

"Usually?" asked Eames. She was good.

Dryden paused. "Well he liked to drink in the evenings and just once, only once, I asked him if his wife missed him since he was always working. He told me that his wife was a busy little bee, and didn't mind one bit that her husband was away. It wasn't the words he used exactly, but the way that he said them. His voice was full of spite. I knew he meant that she was having an affair."

"Any idea with who?" asked Eames.

"Well no. No one I know. But when I heard that gigolo was killed using our bees, I kind of put two and two together."

"Were you surprised that she was seeing an escort?"

"Yeah, she didn't seem like the type to do that. She was attractive." Goren saw Eames blanch at that, but she motored on.

"Well people are full of surprises. Were you surprised that Professor Moses killed the escort, well allegedly killed him, in such a terrifying way?" She shook her head in wonder. "Can you imagine eighty or so bees flying at you and stinging and then realizing that you have only minutes to live?"

"I get stung that many times a week," boasted Dryden. "But I am almost immune. That many stings could have killed even a healthy person; the gigolo must have expired quickly, seeing that he was allergic."

"How did you know he was allergic?" asked Eames.

"I kind of figured it out. It isn't common to die that way. There had to be a special reason. This place has been awash with rumors since the body was found. I guess the local cops have loose lips."

_The body_, reflected Goren. Dryden was disassociating the body from any personal connection he had with the two deaths. He had also neatly dodged his inside knowledge of the allergy. This guy was cunning.

Dryden's thin voice interrupted Goren's thoughts. "You're right detective Eames. I guess such as specific mode of murder was kind of personal." He had an absent look.

Goren jumped in. "Personal, I'll say it was personal. The Professor could have poisoned the gigolo with liquid bee venom instead. It would have been cleaner. He must have had a lot of rage inside. Only somebody full of rage could plan and execute a murder so calculating and…vindictive." He watched for Dryden's reaction, waiting to see if he'd defend the professor.

"Maybe The Professor _was_ full of rage, but if he did it, then he certainly felt guilty later. Perhaps he deliberately poisoned himself with the apitoxin cocktail when he got back here. Have you considered that?"

Goren hadn't. He also knew that Moses had been logged onto his faculty computer the night in question. "Well he did take rather a large draft of the tainted liqueur mixed with vodka, but that may not have been enough to kill him."

"Professor Moses had a heart condition. That would make his exposure to apitoxin much more likely to be fatal."

"But if he wanted to kill himself in guilt, why deliberately and casually poison me too? How did he know I didn't have a heart condition? I talked to him only hours before he died. He showed no indication of suicidal thoughts, nor any recognition of who William Gatehouse was."

"Well some people are good at hiding the truth."

_Yes, some are, _thought Goren.

Dryden stood up and took Eames' coffee mug and the jar of honey to the kitchenette. He sealed the lid and rinsed the outside of the jar with warm water. He then proceeded to scrub the mug with vigor. "Well, I guess you know what you're talking about Detective Goren. I wouldn't like to think that he killed himself. And if he didn't, then his wife might be the one responsible for his death. I wouldn't want to believe that either." Dryden had subtly implicated both of them.

"Well we'd like you to come to New York to make a statement for our case," said Goren.

"A statement?"

Eames piped up. "We just need some information on how Professor Moses was acting on the days leading up to his death. Also, we need you to repeat your conversation about the affair he thought his wife was having." Dryden looked uncomfortable.

"It's kind of busy round here with the professor's death. You're from Manhattan aren't you? That's a long way. Can't I make a statement now, right here?"

"We need to do it officially Mr. Dryden. We don't have much evidence for this case. Our boss needs us to produce something."

"Now _that_, I get," said Dryden. "OK, any way I can help. Can we make it after three? I need to be here for an emergency faculty meeting in the morning."

Goren didn't know whether he wanted to help in his closest colleague's death or help Eames please her boss. He had noted that this worker bee had been having a hard time pleasing his boss. The loss of his scholarship could be a motive for either murder. But there was no need for him to kill both men. Goren thought that there was something more yet to be uncovered. He needed to get closer to Dryden.

"Could I get a look at your bees?"

His request was granted eagerly. Goren and Dryden dressed in bee suits and masks in preparation for a visit to the buzzing alien bee society in the indoor 'garage'. Dryden had insisted on the suits, since he didn't want to risk Goren's system coming into contact with any more venom. Goren spent an hour or so looking at the wooden box beehives, and sliding out trays crammed with bees. He was fascinated by the hives' noises and dances, and even got to feed them some nectar. Goren was amused watching the stingless drones whose sole purpose in life was to impregnate a virgin queen that showed interest. They didn't even have to feed themselves; the worker bees did it.

Eames declined to join them under the guise of checking out the corrupt security camera system, and was likely snooping around Dryden's workstation or Moses' office. Goren was disappointed that Eames wasn't interested in the bees, but happy that she gave him an hour to play and get to know Dryden. This was a hobby he figured he'd like to take up on retirement, potential allergy not withstanding. He wondered whether Eames would be happy to leave the city to somewhere greener where it would be easier to keep bees. If not, he had read about rooftop hobby hives in Manhattan and their importance for pollination in the city of New York. Apparently, bees played an important role in maintaining the city's health and biodiversity. Goren then realized that he was off in fantasyland, a world where he not only had a future, but one with Eames.

On the way back to the SUV, he and Eames shared the results of her snooping. She had not been able to get into Dryden's computer because it was password protected, and there had been nothing significant left in Professor Moses' office. The local cops, along with Jeffries and Andrews, had already gathered any physical or forensic evidence when the case had temporarily been assigned to them, and had sent it off for testing. Unsurprisingly, nothing to implicate any party had been found. They both agreed that David Dryden was an unusually meticulous man.

On the drive back to Manhattan, they stopped at a burger joint to refuel. Goren had left his healthy lunch in the fridge at Major Case, as he hadn't expected to be away so long. But they both figured a burger without fries wasn't so bad. They were still having problems making eye-contact or talking about anything but details of the case.

"What do you make of him?" asked Goren.

"I think he's our guy. He was very understated, but he threw Professor Moses and Emaline under the bus. Still, we need some hard evidence before we can even think about taking it to the DA."

"OK, so let's say that he poisoned the professor, then why kill Gatehouse beforehand? Was it just to set the professor up for his murder and take over his job?"

"Well we know from Melissa that he was worried that his scholarship wouldn't be renewed. Maybe the professor had told him the bad news," speculated Eames.

"Do you think Dryden could have a grudge against Emaline?" he asked her.

"I don't know. He tried to imply that the professor killed himself. I don't know that he necessarily wants her to go down for her husband's murder."

"Well maybe he's in love with her. Perhaps he was jealous of her relationship with Gatehouse, or her husband, and got rid of the competition to get the queen bee for himself," he theorized.

"Nuh Uh!" Eames shook her head confidently.

"Why not? I'm sure a guy like that's used to unrequited love."

"Yeah, well _I'm_ sure he's gay," she stated. He watched her take a huge bite of her hamburger and chew. She was watching his reaction with amusement.

"Why? Did somebody tell you that while you were off exploring? Did you find something in his office?"

Eames shook her head again as she continued demolishing the large bite she had taken. He felt a sudden impatience to find out why she thought Dryden was gay.

She finally put him out of his misery. "He was totally into you Goren!"

"Into me? Bullshit! I would have noticed. I notice stuff like that."

"Sometimes you notice, like with Melissa. Sometimes though Goren, you're completely clueless."

"What do you mean?"

"He tried not to show it, but he wanted your card so bad and he was so concerned about your poisoning, and your possible allergy."

"Yeah, that's because he was the one who poisoned me."

"Goren, he was absolutely checking out your ass while you bent over to type your email into his computer. Didn't you see him react when you patted him on the back? He's probably googling you as we speak."

Goren looked at her with disbelief, but was reviewing what she said and comparing it to his memories. It did not compute. How could he have missed it?

She continued, "He's the kind of guy that's used to being the smartest one in the room, and you surprised him just a little. He still thinks he's smarter than you; that's why he wasn't worried about spending some extra time with you in the garage. But c'mon Goren, it was more than an hour. You're investigating him as a potential suspect, and he still can't resist letting you play in his batcave."

Goren nodded, indicating to her that he was now considering the possibility. Perhaps his skills of observation were slipping or maybe Eames and the dripping honey had distracted him. Either way, he trusted Eames' judgment. Dryden was gay then. It might explain why he had no reaction or attraction to Eames. And Goren wasn't at all biased on that front (of course).

"You think he and professor Moses?" Goren's hand reached for his binder before retracting to settle on the half-eaten hamburger once more.

"I doubt it. Melissa would have told you that if there were that kind of innuendo on campus."

Goren nodded. "In any case, we need to talk to Emaline about this. She did say that she and her husband hadn't had a sexual relationship for many years."

"Yeah, well she called me while you were conversing with the lovely Melissa. She asked me to come with her to Gatehouse's funeral tomorrow morning, and I agreed."

Suddenly that two-headed albino elephant in the room came into clear and present focus and stamped its feet. Goren looked at his burger and took a bite and chewed while considering his next sentence. He knew he had to tread carefully here. He swallowed before speaking. "She's going to the funeral? What about her own husband's funeral?" He didn't look at her as he spoke. The hamburger suddenly became as fascinating as a work of art.

"That's not for a few more days. His body was only just found. C'mon Goren, you know it's not the first time an investigating detective has attended a victim's funeral. It's a good chance to talk to Emaline, and you never know who else might come out of the woodwork."

"Is it inside or outside?" He was staying with the safe topic of logistics. The image of his burning of the diary pages briefly flashed through his mind.

"In a cemetery. His ashes are being placed in a monumental wall."

"Would you mind if I came too? I'll just stay in back in the vehicle and take photos of anyone suspicious."

"Why would I mind Goren? God knows we could use some evidence in this case. We're still clutching at straws on this one."

Eames was flippant but Goren wondered if the case was the only reason why she wanted to attend the funeral. Would she be mourning for Gatehouse?


	8. The Goren Show

When Goren and Eames arrived back to the office, their case was starting to look a little more promising. Although Gatehouse's cell had still not been located, his phone company had provided a good number of voicemails from the server. Goren sat at his desk, andgrabbed a set of headphones. It was understood that audio was Goren's area. He'd share anything he found out soon enough.

The messages were mainly transactional: times, dates, hotel addresses. Most of them were from women, and several had left suggestive propositions. There were few family messages, and no message from Emaline Moses. Then Goren found the one that mattered. It was a rich masculine voice, which had obviously been processed through voice disguiser_._

_You're not picking up, you're busy working I guess. No rest for the wicked. You know what I want. Just be there. _

"Eames," Goren called out loudly, and knocked over his coffee. Several of his colleagues glanced over at him as he tissued it up. Some smiled. Some did not.

Eames strode across the bullpen from Ross's office.

"Listen to this message, dated the night of the murder." She looked at him as she listened and nodded when she understood what he was getting at.

_**No rest for the wicked**_**.** They both recalled that Dryden had uttered that same idiom when they interviewed him just hours ago.

"No name cell?" she asked. She didn't need an answer. Dryden had used a no name credit card to pay for the hotel online, and a no name cell to make all calls to Gatehouse's phone. The phone records showed several missed and picked up calls from the same no name cell over the past month or so. However, nothing in Gatehouse's electronic organizer seemed to indicate a meeting for the night of the murder.

Eames looked at her notes and shared her update. "I called the allergist and told him about your poisoning, and he said it could be indicative of _serum sickness_, which is a mild, _delayed_-type hypersensitivity _reaction_. He wants to run some blood tests on you. I asked him whether Dryden had referred any other people with bee allergies. Get this; he pays Dryden a thousand bucks for each referral. Apparently it's hard to find suitable subjects for research."

"So how many subjects has Dryden referred?"

"Ten or so over the past few years."

"Was Gatehouse one of them?"

"No. I asked, but he hadn't treated any males in that age group."

"A thousand bucks is a lot of money for a PhD student living on a measly stipend. I remember during your questioning that Emaline said that Gatehouse wasn't interested in a free bee allergy trial to cure him. Well maybe Dryden just couldn't just let that money go. Maybe he got a hold of his number somehow."

"Well I'll ask her tomorrow at the funeral." There was an awkward silence at that.

"It's getting late Goren. You should go home and rest. You only just got out of hospital." He was pleased to see her concerned look, and agreed to do exactly that.

After briefing Ross on the evidence, the captain decided that there still wasn't enough to call the DA. He looked frustrated. "A hackneyed phrase won't hold up in court detectives. Bring me something from that funeral tomorrow. If you can't, then the two of you will have to get him into a room until you get answers," he seemed pissed, so Goren was surprised by his next comment.

"It's what you do best. Now go home and rest," he directed.

Goren and Eames took the elevator together. The stale air felt frosty. Goren's hands were deep in his pockets.

"Hey Eames?"

"Yeah?"

"If I go see that allergist, can we split the thousand bucks?"

"Seven fifty, two fifty," she negotiated.

"Deal," he agreed. "I still owe you for the Heart Healthy Planet Catering Co."

"Just as long as you eat it all, I'm happy."

He nodded.

"Give you a ride home?" she asked.

He nodded again. He was too tired to get the subway. Although he felt bad that she had to drive well out of her way, he just wanted to be in her presence. In the car, she put the radio on an easy listening station, but kept changing it when the lyrics got too insightful. He smiled inwardly at this. Eventually, they arrived at his apartment. She kept the engine running.

"Thanks. I'll see you at the funeral tomorrow Eames."

"OK Bobby. Rest up." She called him Bobby!

"No rest for the wicked!" he replied with a wink, and got out of the car. As he closed the door, he saw that she was shaking her head and smiling. Her smile was something that was good to see, and would get him through the night. He climbed up the stairs to his apartment to find that the lone molecule of hope in his heart was multiplying.

THE FUNERAL

Eames and Bobby went in separate work vehicles to William 'Billy' Gatehouse's funeral. Bobby was parked well back from the grounds, watching events with a telephoto lens. He was wearing black jeans, a navy T-shirt, and a blue and white, flannel design over shirt, capped off by Armani sunglasses. He wasn't planning to make an appearance with the mourners, and didn't want to look like a cop. He'd arisen early to get the subway to work in order to borrow a white sedan. He'd taken advantage of the 10 o'clock start of the funeral by getting a haircut. When he caught a glance in the car mirror, he noted that he both looked and felt years younger.

He spotted Eames at the ceremony quite a distance away. He zoomed his camera lens in at her, and couldn't resist taking a series of snaps. She was dressed in black, and was wearing sunglasses too. He was disappointed that he couldn't see her eyes to see what she might be feeling. However, he wasn't disappointed that she was wearing long black leather boots, and a short skirt. He could see her knees peaking out. Her knees were a rare sight, and he recalled that seeing them had been only bright moment on that terrible Thanksgiving Day before his mother had died. If her smile had got him through the previous night, her knees would get him through the next month.

Emaline Moses clung to Eames' arm and looked to be in distress. There was another woman holding Emaline's other arm. Goren speculated that she might be the friend that had given her Gatehouse's card. In fact, William Gatehouse must have passed around a lot of cards, because there was a significant turnout of mourners. They ranged from people who looked like the flotsam and jetsam of the city's underbelly, to the upper crust. There were some men, but many, many more women.

Goren spotted Zachary Pentoff, an escort and friend of Gatehouse. Goren was disgusted, but not surprised, when he snapped a picture of him passing his card to a man. He would probably try to pick up as many new clients as he could, avoiding "The Untouchables", naturally. He just hoped the guy wouldn't talk to Eames and upset her again.

As the service began, Goren scanned the crowd and the trees. He looked out the car's right window, and then the left. He took a few snapshots, and reviewed the results. Dryden was there in one of the photos! He had a cap on, but it was him. Goren quietly got out of his car. Dryden was less than fifty feet away, lurking and watching the service.

Bobby crept up behind him undetected, and felt for his gun just in case. "Well David, I guess your emergency faculty meeting was cancelled. Good of you to come and see us so early."

ONE POLICE PLAZA

Dryden had been waiting in interrogation room two for almost two hours. He wasn't yet under arrest, and was still playing it cool, as a 'person of interest.' He hadn't asked for a lawyer, and had willingly accompanied Goren back to the Major Case offices. He explained that he attended the funeral merely out of curiosity since he was going to the city to make a statement anyway. After all, they had been his bees, and his colleague, that killed the man. He also claimed to be worried about Emaline Moses. Goren nodded, and didn't point out the honeycomb-like holes in his explanation. He would wait for his partner before the questioning began. He called her with an update, and she was en route.

When she arrived, she glanced at Goren curiously. He figured that it must have been because of his casual wardrobe and the new haircut. They immediately went to Ross's office and closed the door.

"Find out anything more Detective Eames?" The captain asked.

"Well, she was certain her husband wasn't gay or having a relationship with Dryden. On the contrary, she said that her husband despised him. She recently overheard a phone call about his plans to oust Dryden from the faculty. I then asked her if it were possible that Dryden could have had Gatehouse's cell phone number. She did recall that she had misplaced her cell phone the day of the faculty luncheon a few weeks ago, but that the catering staff had returned it an hour later. She kept his number stored in her contacts under 'William – plumber'. Dryden must have found it, and figured out that he was Mrs. Moses' allergic friend 'Billy'.

Ross snorted at the plumber reference. "I'll organize a search warrant for his phone records and computer, and call the ADA. You two go in and do what you do."

"I think Goren should take this one alone," suggested Eames.

Ross looked puzzled. "Why?" He'd already told Goren earlier in the week that they worked best when they were together.

"Dryden is clearly attracted to him. It could be an advantage."

Ross glanced at Goren, as if assessing his attractiveness. "OK Eames, get into observation then. I'll join you shortly."

The partners walked towards the interrogation room. Just before he entered, Goren looked down at her. "Any last thoughts?"

"Yeah, she replied. "Step into him!" Bobby smiled at Deakins' catchphrase and entered the interrogation room.

David Dryden looked up. He had washed and combed his hair and was a lot better dressed than the day before. His reddish-brown hair made the gray walls seem blue in comparison. Goren approached the chair opposite the suspect, and slowly peeled off his own over shirt, hanging it on the back of the chair. "I don't know what it is, but I always feel hot when I have to question a suspect in here," said Goren.

"It's because you're excited when you get to do what you love. You shouldn't be though. You've got the wrong guy."

"You're right David. I love to work, just like you. What was it you said yesterday? That the devil finds work for idle hands?" Goren caressed his own hands in the air with his fingers, while he stared at Dryden. The movement had the suspect's full attention.

"I never said that. I said 'No rest for the wicked'."

"Oh that's right." Bobby opened his binder and pulled out a small MP3 player and pressed 'play', and watched Dryden's reaction.

_You're not picking up, you're busy working I guess. No rest for the wicked. You know what I want. Just be there._

Dryden's protective mask didn't slip as he heard the message.

"We found that on the phone of one Mr. William Gatehouse, whose funeral you attended this morning. What do you have to say to that?"

"It's a common enough phrase. That's not my voice."

"No, I'm sure it isn't. Just as I'm sure we're not likely to find any voice software programs on your computer."

"You can't look at my computer!"

"We can if we get a search warrant." Goren played the message again purely to annoy him.

_You're not picking up, you're busy working I guess. No rest for the wicked. You know what I want. Just be there._

"So William Gatehouse was busy working away when he got that call," Goren continued. I guess he's a worker bee too."

"Him? He was a drone. Drones have no stinger. Their only job is only to fertilize queens."

"Well judging from the turnout at his funeral today, he must have done his duty well. Did you see all the men and women there?"

Dryden shrugged, but Goren saw that he looked hurt. Goren had his suspicions. He played the message again.

_You're not picking up, you're busy working I guess. No rest for the wicked. You know what I want. Just be there. _

He rewound and played the last half again.

_You know what I want. Just be there. _

And again.

_You know what I want. Just be there. _

Dryden's rage was slowly building. Goren could smell it more than he could see it. If he wanted to irritate the suspect further, he needed to appear really nonchalant. He slid back his chair, and rested one leg on the empty chair beside him. He leaned back a little putting his palms at the back of his head to support it, his long strong arms and elbows in the air. He said nothing to Dryden. He just let him bubble and stew.

Goren remembered Eames' words from her interview with Emaline Moses. _"A need that all human beings have, a need to be held, a need to be touched, to be listened to, understood, comforted, to feel safe and accepted." _

He decided to attack this from another angle. He got up and left the room, coming back with two coffees. He sat down and slid one of the mugs in Dryden's direction. He tasted it and pulled a face.

"Sorry," said Goren. "No honey around these parts. So David, tell me how it feels to be rejected by everybody all the time?"

"What are you talking about?"

Goren laughed. "Oh c'mon David, you know what I'm talking about. Melissa told me that you have no friends after six years on campus – rejected!" Goren gave a dismissive flick of his hand before continuing.

"You're chronically single – rejected!" Goren flicked his hand again as though swatting a fly.

"Mrs. Moses told us that her husband and the committee were, now what were her words? Oh yeah, planning to _oust _you and take away your scholarship- rejected! Your experiments failed and you tried to blame the missing bee box to get an extension."

Goren paused to contemplate, and then pointed an accusatory index finger towards David. "It's almost as though the other bees in the hive knew you were weak. They were trying to drag you feeble, struggling body out of there. That's what bees do – REJECTED! So I'll ask again David, how does it feel to be resoundingly rejected by the world?"

David looked like a feral cat with its back arched. "I don't know Detective Goren. You tell me," he shot back. Goren looked at him with raised eyebrows and wrinkled brow. Eames was right; Dryden had probably 'googled' him the minute they left Brownlow College.

"I researched you last night Goren. I'm good at that. You don't seem to have a lot of supporters in the NYPD – rejected! Your Gage-trained profiling skills are derided as often as they are praised – rejected! I found out about your suspension and what you did to earn it-. REJECTED!" Dryden's normally feeble voice escalated confidently with each accusation, and played his trump card.

"And let's not forget your little secret."

"My secret?" asked Goren intrigued. "Enlighten me."

"You think nobody can see that you're in love with your partner. It's almost amusing how pathetically you try not to let it show. I knew it within minutes of meeting the two of you. But she doesn't want you. She even seems to actively dislike you." Dryden looked at the two-way mirror and addressed Eames, who he assumed was standing behind it. "Isn't that right Detective Eames?" He gestured in arm in Goren's direction. "REJECTED!" Dryden slammed a hand on the table close to Goren, and looked at him with triumph. "So you tell me Goren, how does _that_ feel?

Goren rubbed his lips and nose. He knew she was watching them, but he didn't lose his cool. He was in total control of this interrogation.

"OK David. I'll tell you how being rejected feels."

Goren looked at the man in front of him. He knew it was important to bring truth into difficult interrogations. It was the only way to win trust. The truth was that Goren knew exactly how it felt to be unwanted; he had always known. Throughout his childhood, his working life, and in his personal relationships, he had always been ultimately rejected. Of course he had learnt to expedite the process by rejecting the other person first. He recalled that even the other night in this very interrogation room, Eames had rejected his embrace and walked away. That memory allowed Goren to answer honestly.

"Rejection hurts. No, it stings; rejection stings and poisons the heart and soul." The words drifted in the air around them.

David Dryden's angry yet intelligent eyes met Goren's, and a moment of mutual recognition passed between them. Their bond was sealed.

Dryden spoke. "Yeah, it stings. What right do any of them have to reject you anyway? You're a genius. Last night I read about some of the cases you've solved, and how you went about it. Sure, you made a few blunders, like Croyden and Wallace, just like I did with my research. But the big picture is that you're the best goddamn detective on the police force. That's a threat to them, so they try to single you out for ridicule."

"And it stings," acknowledged Goren.

Dryden nodded. "Who is _she_ to reject _you_ anyway?" He flipped his head in the direction of the one-way glass. "You're a tall guy, a smart guy, you're way out of her league. She should be begging you; she should be fucking paying _you_. Fucking Gatehouse was a goddamn gigolo!"

Dryden realized his error and stopped talking.

"A gigolo who rejected you as a client?"

Dryden looked away. "What? I never even met the guy."

Bobby sighed and rubbed his eyes. He got up and walked over to the other side of the table. He stood behind Dryden, and bent down. He whispered softly in his ear. "You know what stings Dryden - that you think you can bullshit me now, and that I won't even know it. It's a fucking insult. This is personal. You fucking_ poisoned _me and I want an explanation."

Dryden's head turned to the left, and he and Goren were face-to-face. They could feel each other's warm breath. Dryden spoke. "You have to believe me. That wasn't part of the plan. It was… a blunder."

Goren nodded, leaning his body in even closer. "Why do you even care that William Gatehouse rejected you? He didn't have any regular male clients anyway."

"Bullshit! You saw them at the funeral."

"You gotta help me out here David. It's a labyrinth. How did you end up putting me in the hospital and almost killing me?"

Dryden broke then, and put his head into the palms of his hands and stared at the table. Goren stood back upright, but kept a reassuring hand on Dryden's back, patting him gently while he unburdened himself.

"I found his number in Mrs. Moses' phone when she left it on the table at a function. I sometimes can't help myself when it comes to research. I only wanted him to be part of an allergy trial, but a week later she told me he wasn't interested. I still had his cell number, so I typed it into a search engine. He wasn't a plumber at all. Instead I found reviews of him on a gay forum. It said that he was good, and willing to do just about anyone, of any gender. The posts were a few years old, but it didn't take me long to find out what he did for a living, and what Emaline Moses must be doing with him."

"So then what happened?"

"I found out where he lived, and went to his apartment. I told him that I knew Emaline, and that I wanted him to be part of a free scientific trial to cure him of his allergy. He was so angry that I had come to his door. He told me to get lost. I got angry. I told him I knew what he did for a living, and that I was going to tell Mr. Moses and their children exactly what she'd been up to."

"How did he react?"

"He agreed to do the trial, so I told I would call him soon. I didn't dare to for about a month. I only wanted the thousand-dollar commission for the referral. I never meant for it to get that far, and I don't know why I said what I did. I figured I'd just leave him alone. It wasn't worth the effort of blackmailing someone. I was worried he'd tell Emaline about me, but he didn't."

"But you called him again, why?"

"I..I couldn't stop thinking about him. He was so attractive. I've always told myself that I was asexual, and that I was too interested in my work, and my brain. The body was secondary. I suddenly started to wonder that…if I could sleep with a man, just once, then I'd understand myself better."

David stopped for a moment and looked at Goren. Although he showed David sympathy with his eyes, he stayed silent until he was ready to continue his story.

"So I called him. I told him that he didn't have to participate in the trial. I said that if he instead spent a few hours with me, he could wash his hands of the whole thing and never hear from me again. He declined my offer. He said that he wasn't gay, and didn't take male clients. I knew it was a lie. I had seen reviews of his prowess online."

"He rejected you?"

"Yeah, a fucking gay gigolo! I even offered to pay him, but he still turned me down. That fucking bastard! But I got him. I mentioned the Moses kids by name and asked him how he would feel when he broke up their parent's marriage. I even said I had photos of him and their mother together. He caved to my request. I booked at hotel for the next night."

"But you weren't going to give him a chance to reject you again, were you?"

"Fucking A I wasn't! I scoped out the hotel, and then booked it online. I called the desk clerk pretending I was from central IT, and needed to reset the password. The troglodyte gave it to me. It was a cinch to disable the cameras remotely." David sat fully upright again. He was almost excited.

Goren tried to look impressed with David's cunning and general IT skills, and walked around and sat back down opposite him. Goren rested one hand under his chin, as though it was the most fascinating tale he'd ever heard.

"I went to the hotel, and he was there. I left the bee box in a sealed storage container outside the door. The gigolo had tried to dress in tight sexy clothes and offered me a drink. He looked so beautiful, that I almost changed my mind. I told him to get undressed, wait in the bedroom, and close the door. I got out the bee box, and threw it in the bedroom. I shut the door and held onto the handle firmly. I have strong arms, you know. It only took a minute. He didn't scream that much." Dryden's eyes were glazed as though he were back in the moment. "That fucking drone thought he was too good for me. He thought I would beg to let him touch me. I showed him!" His eyes were shining with hatred.

Goren eyed him carefully. He needed more. "That's all very fascinating David, but why did you try to poison _me_?"

"Look I'm sorry alright. You were just – collateral damage. The next day, I went to Professor Moses to tell him about the missing bee box, and told him that its absence would compromise my latest experiment. I said that I needed more time to get my thesis done. He told me that I'd had enough time and that he couldn't accept any more excuses.

I then found out that he was going to meet with the committee to decide my future. I couldn't let that happen. A couple of days later, he left his office, so I filled his 'Nectar of the Gods' bottle with apitoxin. I figured if he was stupid enough and greedy enough to drink that much alcohol, then he could just go and meet the nectar gods in person." Dryden's expression and voice seemed so callous when talking about 'the gigolo', and the professor. It was chilling.

Dryden's face suddenly changed to an apologetic one and he looked at Goren. "I didn't know about your visit. I didn't plan for anyone else to drink it. If I had known…"

Goren thought it odd that this man seemed to hold him in such high regard. He'd seen that kind of attachment in the army, but had ever experienced it first hand.

Dryden continued. "It was better to have him out of the way anyway. He was on heart pills and on borrowed time if you ask me. I did the old prick a favor. He died drinking the stuff he loved, and didn't have to spend the rest of his life in a jail cell. I knew the bee box stamp might eventually bring the cops here, but I wasn't certain of that. It was the one thing that was too hard to bring back from the hotel room. The bees would have flown everywhere. I cleaned up all the other evidence though, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you gave the cops a hard time on that score. The cameras too."

"Yeah, I should have gone into forensics or IT instead of apiculture," he said whimsically.

"But you knew that with Moses dead, there would be a professorship available at Brownlow," Goren asserted.

"Well that's just a bonus. I only want to have my scholarship renewed, but the fucking committee will probably…reject my application if I apply for the professorship."

"Well they won't get a chance to now, not where you're going."

Dryden looked up at Goren in realization and stood up in panic. The interrogation room door opened and Eames, Ross, and two officers swarmed in on him.

Goren then heard the words he most loved to hear coming out of his partner's mouth.

"David Dryden, you're under arrest for the murder of William Gatehouse and Brian Moses." As he was being cuffed, his murderous rage seemed to return in full force. Dryden knew he'd been manipulated and bested. Goren and Eames looked smugly at Dryden as he was led out of the room by the uniforms.

From the bullpen, Dryden's voice rang out in an attempt to cause Goren maximum humiliation. "You're no better than me Goren. You're no smarter. Sooner or later they'll kick you out of this department for good."

From the entrance of the interrogation room, Goren saw Jeffries and Andrews smirk at that. Dryden struggled and thrashed his way across the bullpen with surprising strength while the arresting officers tried to restrain him. His voice started to fade the farther away he was led. Dryden then injected his final sting. "She'll never want you!" Then the words 'REJECTED! REJECTED!' could be heard echoing throughout the halls. And he was gone.

Goren was at the entrance of the interrogation room watching the show along with everyone else. He stepped back into the room and palmed his face with both hands. The interview had been a draining one for him. Eames and Ross followed him in. He couldn't bring himself to look at her or speak to her just yet. Ross saved him from the discomfort.

"Outstanding work detectives. If he doesn't plead guilty, the ADA will be able to get any type of conviction she wants with that confession. I knew you two wouldn't let me down."

Eames nodded. "Thanks captain."

"You had the right idea sending Goren in alone with Dryden. He acted like Goren was his blood brother."

Goren looked over at Ross with a touch of menace, and his boss quickly got the message that he had put his foot in it. The captain changed the subject in an attempt to mitigate the damage.

"Well, thank God that case is over. Once you get the bare essentials done in terms of paperwork, you can both take a half day – you've earned it detectives." Ross gave them a bemused look as he left the interrogation room, closing the door behind him.

Goren surmised that the look probably had something to do with Dryden's allegation that he was in love with Eames. He felt embarrassed, but there was no reason for Ross to read anything into Dryden's words. He felt uncomfortable that Ross, and Eames, had witnessed this particular interrogation. He was also uncomfortable that he and Eames were back alone in this particular interrogation room together. He wished a smoke alarm would save him now.

"That really was good work detective," she said. "You were amazing in there. I don't tell you that enough. You always get inside their heads, and get to the truth."

"Well you were amazing with Emaline, and I don't tell you enough how good you are."

"Yeah well, we're a good team."

"You think Emaline will be OK?" he asked.

"I don't know. It's going to be hard to get over something like that. She still has her kids, and I'll arrange for her to be referred to a suitable therapist."

"You think you'll be OK, Eames."

She looked up at him, and he could see apprehension on her features. She sighed, "You know me Goren, I'm always OK. I'm just glad this case is over."

Before he could respond, she opened the door and quickly walked in the direction of their desks, leaving him alone. If he had been the Goren of old, he would have told himself that everything was now fine between them, and that they could get back to their usual routine.

But he was a new Goren. There were so many things left unsaid between them. She was wrong; she wasn't always OK, and the case was not yet over. They couldn't go on like this. Something had to change; he had to change it. He didn't know whether to push harder, or back right off and just let her know that she could come to him. Either move could blow up in his face. But he did know that he had to act, even if it meant risking his heart. Their relationship felt dishonest now, and the denials and omissions of both parties were a ticking time bomb. He decided to give himself the half-day to decide the best way to handle the shaky situation.


	9. Extreme Risk Taking behavior

It was only 3pm by the time they got out of there, and Bobby used his half-day to walk around the city. After a while, the buildings were looming too high, and seemed to be pushing down on him. He felt claustrophobic, so he took the subway back to his Brooklyn apartment to think.

Their relationship was like a broken bone which hadn't been set properly. After the break, the bone had reconnected, but hadn't knitted together right. This left it weak, vulnerable, and full of holes. If left to its own devices, the bone would probably break again. Bobby decided that as painful as it would be, the only wise course of action would be to re-break it, and allow it to heal properly.

He was going to call her. At first he thought that he should just knock on her door, but that scenario could bring a lot of problems. She could refuse to let him in, or let him in then kick him out. She might feel that privacy and space were being invaded. On the other hand, if she came to his place, he couldn't storm out. It would also be symbolic that he wanted to let her into his life. It was already nudging 8pm. It was now or never. Somehow, his fingers pressed the right buttons on his phone, and he called her.

She picked up. That was hurdle one.

"Eames?"

"Goren, what is it? The case."

"Kinda."

"Kinda? What do you mean kind of?"

"Uh, can you come over – for dinner?"

"I've already had dinner."

"OK then. Um for a drink?"

"Why?"

"I want to tell you something. It's important." There was silence at the other end. He stopped breathing for a moment. He could feel his heart flipping and adrenaline flowing from his kidneys. "Please Eames."

She sighed. "OK, I'll come over." She didn't sound happy or enthusiastic, but she was coming.

Half an hour or so later, she came to his door. He had left it ajar for her, and she entered without ceremony. She had changed out of her funeral dress into dark blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Goren was still in his black jeans and navy T-shirt. Why hadn't he thought to change? She looked around his apartment, fixating on the bookshelf. She had been in his apartment often enough, but she seemed to find the stationary objects more interesting than usual. She glanced at him, and then glanced away.

"So where's that drink?" she asked.

Luckily, his liquor cabinets had escaped his earlier audit of all unhealthy items in his kitchen. "What can I get you?"

"Bourbon on the rocks." Goren made no comment. This was the drink she preferred for heavy conversation. He made himself the same and walked over to pass her the glass.

"Should you be drinking that?" she asked.

"No," he admitted. He was still on medication.

She sipped without proposing a toast, and sat down on the couch and left him standing there in the kitchen. What was she thinking?

"So why did you ask me here?" He was relieved she wanted to get straight to the point.

He sat on the brown lazy boy recliner and looked across at her. He took a sip of his drink before he spoke. The bourbon burned his throat, but warmed his insides. It gave him courage. He would get straight to the point if that was what she wanted.

"I guess I want to know what's happened to us." He kept his attention fixed on her.

She took another sip of her drink, rattling the ice. She was ignoring his gaze.

"Eames?"

"How am I supposed to react to that Goren?"

"Well you could look at me for a start." He didn't mean for it to come out like that. The last thing he wanted to do was interrogate her again.

"I can't look at you."

"Why not?"

"I don't know Goren, pride, anger, shame, fear; just pick one. You'll probably hit the nail on the head. You're usually right." Her voice was bitter.

"I'm not always right. I didn't pick up that Dryden was attracted to me. I drank on the job and got myself put in hospital. I'm slipping."

She looked at him then. "You're not slipping Goren. You're as fine a detective as you ever were."

"I don't know about that Eames. I've seen better days."

"So have I, Goren." She stood up to get a refill before he could comment. She stayed back in the kitchen.

He raised his voice a little so it would reach her. "I disagree. You're at your peak as a cop."

"Geez Goren, I take that back. You are slipping." She walked over and sat back down on the couch. "If I'm a good cop, why did I withhold the whole truth from you and Ross? Why did I pack up the evidence into the boxes that night to discourage you from looking at it? Why did I just stand there and watch you as you burnt up evidence?"

"That evidence wasn't relevant to the case. We've proved that; we solved it. No one will ever know," he defended their actions.

"I'll know," she said. Her voice sounded flat, resigned. Her identity was based on her being a professional detective, and an honest one. He could see that this case was killing who she believed she was. It pained him so much to see it.

"God Goren, why does it feel like we still have a gun pointed at each other?"

Her observation was a keen one. That's exactly what it felt like. He spoke quietly. "I don't know Eames, but I know that I don't want it to be like that anymore." He paused. "We've gotta sort this out somehow. It's too important to ignore; we're too important. But I'm honestly not sure how to go about it. I'm afraid I'll say something wrong to make you turn on me, or I won't say enough and you'll walk away."

They both existed for a while in their own worlds, digesting his words. Eames broke the silence first.

"I have a suggestion."

"OK."

"After I was…taken. I had to see Olivet. I couldn't talk to her at first. She tried a technique with me. She let us talk without the added pressure of looking at each other, without any eye contact. It was easier somehow."

The bourbon has loosened her lips, but he still couldn't understand quite what she was getting at. She got up and placed two wooden chairs back to back just behind the couch, facing the kitchen. He now understood what she meant without further prompting. She wanted them to sit in the chairs, back to back, and talk. It scared the shit out of him, but that was why he'd asked her over. He had to do this for her, and not shut her out.

Without being told, he got up and sat down on one of the chairs. These particular chairs were fairly uncomfortable, but that seemed appropriate somehow. After a few moments, she sat down on the other one. There was an inch between them. He couldn't quite feel her back against his, but her presence was there. He fixated his eyes and ears on the kitchen clock, tick, tick, tick, tick, until she started to talk.

"When I was a little girl Bobby, I used to tell my family stories and lies, and fantasies; but I'd preface them by saying: 'Let's just pretend this happened, it didn't really but let's just pretend,' and I'd spin my tale.

He smiled at the thought of her as a young girl.

"So Goren, I'm going to ask you to pretend. Let's just pretend that we're the kind of people who talk to each other about what's going on. I can't talk if I have to look at you."

Bobby felt his back warming up, with the heat of her body so close. He could almost feel her internal organs performing their vital functions. Her heart was beating inside.

She continued, "We'll pretend that we're open and honest, and not emotional…"

"Fuck ups?" he suggested.

"Yeah, fuck ups. I appreciate your honesty Detective Goren. It's a good start."

He nodded and smiled. He knew that she couldn't see his nod or his smile, but he also knew that she felt it.

She went on, "I'll explain it to you, what you so badly want to know, but you have to let me. You can't leave until this is done."

"I won't leave, I promise," he affirmed. His voice didn't sound like anything he recognized. There was no defensiveness, and no pretense.

"TICK! TICK! TICK! ," said the kitchen clock forty seven or so times. Neither of them spoke. He cleared his throat; her continued silence seemed to indicate that she needed him to kick this off. She wasn't going to make her move until he risked putting a pawn out there on the chessboard, a pawn which could be vulnerable. So he made the first move.

"You think you're a bad cop? I'm no saint Eames. In fact, I'm in no position to judge anyone, professionally or personally."

"Go on," she encouraged him cautiously.

"You wouldn't even believe some of the things I got up when I was in the army," he added.

She rolled her eyes to show she was not particularly impressed with his attempt at a deep dark confession. He couldn't see her roll her eyes, but he could feel it anyway. He needed to try something riskier.

"OK, OK. You remember that undercover job I did last year?"

"No Bobby, I can't quite recall that case. I think you forgot to tell me about it. Can you jog my memory?" she asked in mock-earnest tones.

There was a pregnant pause in the air to allow a decent amount of time for the wit and sarcasm to dissipate from the atmosphere.

"I let a stripper go down on me," he blurted out. Now _that _was a little meatier.

"While you were on the job?" she asked in disbelief. "You paid her?"

He hadn't paid her but he sagely chose not to answer that. He actually felt some relief in telling her, and he was surprised at feeling some tension leave his shoulders as he told her about his illicit act.

"I was working security at the strip club one night, and I scared off some undercover cops that Testarossa was talking to. Afterwards, he hauled me into his office. He let me listen in on a call setting up a drug deal. He was testing me. By some grace of God, I'd avoided doing coke and alcohol with a few sleights of hand, but I knew he still wasn't sure about me, a cop on suspension."

"Well, I've been fooled by your magic tricks myself," she commented.

"I knew my career would be finished if anything came up on the tox screen. I was in over my head, and scared I was being set up to fail by the department, but I thought I'd managed to fool Testarossa up until that point," he paused before continuing to the next part. It was harder to explain.

"As a reward I guess, he made another call. A few strippers just appeared at the door of his office. I knew that Stoat and the other employees took full advantage of this…perk. I knew I was being tested, to see how much of the cop was left in me. He told me to choose one of them, so I did. He left me in his office alone with her. I knew I couldn't turn her down without being made, at least that's what I told myself." He put his head down towards his lap, and rubbed the back of his neck before continuing.

"You know it was only the next day when you approached me outside the diner. I couldn't talk to you or look you in the eye for so many reasons: for keeping the operation from you, for avoiding your calls, for your involvement in the tourist murders, but mostly for being a bad cop who would accept a blowjob from a stripper" He had never been so forthcoming with her in all the years he had known her.

"Shit Bobby, I was in Vice. I get it. I get how unexpected things can happen undercover."

He continued, trying to make his point. "It never came out, what I did in that office. I didn't tell you, Ross, the chief. I didn't put it in the reports. I omitted that detail, because it wasn't relevant to the case,"

He was trying to draw parallels to show that he understood why she didn't tell him or Ross about her connection to William Gatehouse. The truth was, he felt like an unqualified hypocrite. In interrogation, he'd told Stoat that he was nothing like him. He'd greedily taken back his badge, and now he was insisting that Eames tell him her secret.. He should have known her well enough to realize that he could trust her not to tell him everything, if that was the call she needed to make.

"It doesn't mean you're a dirty cop Bobby. Yeah, you made a mistake, but it was to protect your cover."

"Yeah I tried to tell myself that, but it's bullshit; I crossed the line. I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have enjoyed the uh..act as much as I did. It had been a long time for me, you know?"

"How long?" she enquired.

_How long had it been? Is that what she's asking me, _thought Goren. Honesty was working well for him so far. He decided to maintain it.

"Three years," he admitted.

"Three years?"

"Not counting the stripper."

"Three years?" She repeated. She sounded disbelieving. "Why Bobby? I mean you're not old or…unattractive."

He contemplated her question. "Yeah? 'Cos I feel old and unattractive."

He heard her sigh in exasperation. "You can't be unattractive no matter how hard you try."

He chuckled lightly at that. He knew she was implying that he had been trying really hard to lose his attractiveness. "Thanks Eames."

"But you didn't answer my question Goren. Why haven't you…slept with anyone in so long?" He understood why she hesitated with that question. Another of their unspoken rules was that they never discussed each other's love lives. Whenever he had dared to ask her something similar, the reaction had not been good. It was a pattern they had to break. He had to keep risking his pawns, even if it meant exposing them to danger.

"I don't really know why. I guess I had other problems, personal problems."

"OK you did, some of the time. Not all the time," she pointed out.

"If I'm to be honest, I guess it started when the Gages came back into my life. I know it affected you more, but that case….It almost killed me. It killed me when you were taken by Jo. It shook me to the foundations. After that, I just didn't have the mental or physical resources to contemplate anything but the job." He had the sudden urge to hold her hand and squeeze it. He reached his right hand behind him, subtly seeking it, but her arms weren't dangling like his; they were folded in her lap. He started tapping his foot instead. He recalled the time when she had pointed out that the only thing he was interested in was being left alone to catch bad guys.

"I understand that Bobby, more than you know. But the job can't satisfy you in every way, not in that way. All human beings have sexual needs."

And there were those words again. Those words had been penetrating his waking life and sleep since she uttered them to Emaline Moses. It was now her turn to speak.

"I'm a human being, Bobby, and I have needs too. I'm no saint either."

"So how long has it been for you?" He ventured back. He was actually very curious about this part of her life.

"Me? Well it's, it's been.…" She hesitated. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer me to lie to you."

"Since when have I ever preferred a lie, Eames?"

"You do prefer a lie. You think I'm perfect. I'm not perfect, Goren. I never have been."

She got up and retrieved the bottle of bourbon. She passed it to him, and he took a swig straight from the bottle. She sat back down in her chair, her back to him once more. He heard her take a deep drink while the clock continued its incessant TICK, TICK, TICKING.

"I'm afraid Goren."

"Why? It'll never leave this room."

"I'm afraid that this is all you're going to see every time you look at me from now on."

He tried to formulate a response before giving up and just shooting off the words from his heart, hoping for the best.

"Alex. I see you, the real you. You're a woman so good, so strong, so beautiful, so smart, so witty, and so resilient. You refuse to let a tragedy like Joe's death defeat you. You saved yourself from Jo Gage. You nurtured a human being inside of you for the love of your sister. You've taken so much evil off the streets, and you do it all with strength and compassion."

It felt so good that he could finally tell her this. He got up from his chair to go to her. He kneeled down before her on the hard wooden floor, and gently put down the bottle that was in her hand. He saw the tears forming in her eyes as he took both her hands and grasped them. He looked up at her face. "Eames, I hope you know that nothing you tell me could change how I feel about you. God, you've carried me all these years, even when the weight must have been crushing you. You never gave up on me." His voice cracked.

"Can't you see? This too much pressure for me Bobby. You have me on this pedestal, and I'm up way too high. It's gonna be a long fall for you to witness. I could just lie to you. I could say that a friend asked to borrow my apartment and invited Billy over. I want to lie to you. I just feel so humiliated here in front of _you_."

"Do you think less of me Alex, because of the stripper?" She shook her head and sniffed. He wanted to hold her in his arms, but he couldn't let go of her hands just yet. They were his lifeline. "Nothing you could say would ever make me think less of you Alex. You have to believe that."

She sighed in resignation, and shook her hands free of his. She took a deep breath. "I want you to go sit back in your chair." He was disappointed, but he obeyed, ignoring the pain in his knee as he moved. He got back to his still-warm chair and waited until she spoke.

"You asked me how long it's been. Well, the last time I had sex was dated on the papers you burned."


	10. Fortune Favors The Bold

"You asked me how long it's been. Well, the last time I had sex was dated on the papers you burned."

This was her belated admission of what they both already knew. She had been William Gatehouse's client. He didn't feel a victory at being right. He badly wanted to know what had brought her to the point of taking such a step, even though he had no real right that information. More important to him than his curiosity, was figuring out what needed him to say to make her feel secure. His reaction and words could make or break their future. He knew he couldn't get her to reveal more immediately, so he skirted around it. She was going to need to talk about this.

"But what about that Terry guy you dated, or Peter?"

"No, and no."

"No?" he said with a touch of surprise. He had convinced himself that she and Terry had had some sort of short-lived relationship.

"No!" she asserted firmly.

More silence surrounded them before she spoke again.

"So profile that Goren. It's just been… William- Billy. He's the only man since Joe died, and it doesn't count. Like your stripper, it was just…a lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness."

Goren pondered his next words carefully. He felt uncomfortable about this subject, and didn't quite know how to broach it. Eames' situation was very different from that of his father, or Emaline Moses. They had both been married, albeit unhappily, when they sought out others.

"I can't even begin to comprehend what you went through after Joe died. I've never been married. Hell, I've never been in a relationship that lasted more than ten months."

_Except with you,_ his brain added.

"Maybe you don't know what marriage is Goren, but grief. You get what grief is. I know you do. You know how consuming and destructive it can be. I missed him; 'miss' isn't even a strong enough verb somehow because it doesn't describe the despair, the dejection, and the desolation. I was ill, sick with grief and anguish and misery."

Suddenly her damn burst and her words came out in a flurry of emotion and desperation. It took all his will to stay in his chair and listen to it without offering comfort. Her syllables seemed to pelt down on him as he tried to piece them all together. She loved Joe. Joe had been there one day, and gone the next. Much later, she had tried to date other men. She couldn't sleep with them. Her friends had encouraged her to consider a dating service. She couldn't do it because it felt pathetic. She couldn't risk her emotions like that. She was worried that she had some kind of sexual dysfunction.

"So I joined a bereavement group for people whose spouses had been taken away suddenly. Some of the men and women had lost their wives and husbands in the attacks, others in car accidents. We discussed mourning, the loss of intimacy, the difficulty of moving on. I didn't talk much; I mainly listened. There was a widow in the group. Her name was Shelley, and she had lost her husband almost two years prior. We went out for coffee after the meeting, and she told me about Billy. She gave me his card. I took it out of politeness, and didn't tell her that this was the kind of guy I might have busted when I was in Vice. Then I started listening, Shelley told me that he was kind and gentle. She explained that Billy had helped her to move on with her life, and get back in touch with her sexuality. She insisted that it wasn't sordid or anything to be ashamed of. It was just another form of therapy and it was discreet. She said that she had been on real dates after that."

Bobby knew it was true. Sex therapy was acceptable in many medical circles, particularly for people undergoing recovery or rehabilitation of some sort. It was, in some countries, even government funded.

"For some reason, I didn't throw away that card. I carried it a month or two Bobby, but I never seriously considered calling and then..."

"And then?" he urged.

She was going to tell him what had spurred her call, but she held back from it. Instead she told him about the first time Billy had come to her apartment, and her bed. It had been strange, but not terrible. It gave her a physical release and she cried afterwards. The second time she pretended he was Joe, and that had been destructive. The two times after that, she enjoyed the tender touching and the sex she needed without the risk of emotional connection. She made a one last appointment, and she knew her body was capable of having sexual relations again. But that last time, the whole experience started to feel empty. Her experiment had come to its natural conclusion. Unlike Shelley, she hadn't been able to date other men to the point of intimacy.

After this part of her story was told. She was silent. He sensed she was fearfully waiting for his reaction, either his condemnation or acceptance.

"Eames?"

"Yeah?"

He stood up and walked around to her chair and offered his hand. "Will you sit on the couch with me?" She nodded, and he pulled her up, leading her over there. She seemed battered and bruised as he sat her down. He stroked her face, trailing the tracks of tears with is thumb. He reached for a tissue from the coffee table, and gave it to her. He retrieved a glass of water for her from the kitchen. She looked at him while she sipped. His comforting acts seemed to calm her a little.

"Bobby, I'm sorry for not telling you earlier, and for what happened in the interrogation room. I was already upset at seeing Billy's body at the crime scene. I didn't recognize him right away. He was puffy and red. Then I saw him again all carved up on the autopsy table. It was too much, and I ran from there. I didn't even make it to the bathroom before I threw up. I was desperate by the time I saw that planner on your desk because I didn't want anyone to find out, especially not you. I'm your senior partner. I'm a professional detective to everyone in Major Case, including you. I felt threatened by your discovery. I got angry. When you pry into my personal life, it just pushes my buttons in ways I can't even comprehend."

"Why does that push your buttons so much?"

"Because I don't even have a personal life, and because it's you. You have to know everything. I didn't want you profiling me. I didn't want you to think I was one of Zachary Pentoff's 'untouchables'.

"What? You're smart and beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you." He tried desperately to show how much he wanted her to believe that. "Eames, let's just forget about what happened in the interrogation room. I shut you down time and time again. Every time you asked about anything personal about my mother, my brother or Brady, I wouldn't talk." He took a breath. "I don't know why we're like that with each other when it come to the personal. It's what we've always done I guess – a pattern. And it's hard to change a familiar pattern like that without tremendous risk."

He found himself once again being unable to meet her gaze. He'd thought about their negative patterns a great deal lately, and he wanted to change them. "Shit I almost died the other day Alex, and I don't mean in the hospital. I mean in the interrogation room when I thought I'd lost you as my friend."

She blinked. "So we are friends then? We don't act like it, huh?"

He shook his head in self-admonishment. "That's because I'm a bad friend to you Eames. I'm sometimes no better than people like Dryden or Jo Gage. Their needs are so intense, that they can hurt others when they try to get them met."

"You're nothing like them Bobby. How can you even think that?" She reached up to stroke the hair on his head, and he flinched involuntarily.

"I don't want hurt you, so I keep a distance. It's when I try to get what I really need that I most hurt you. Like when I needed to get back to being your partner, I hurt you by lying to you. Like when I needed to know the truth about your husband's murder, I hurt you bad." He put his head in his hands then, punishing himself for his deeds.

She was concerned that he was taking too much on. "Well I hurt you too when I froze you out after your reinstatement. I let that go on for far too long Bobby." She sighed, "We're both flawed and proud and stubborn. It's a two-way street. If we could just be honest, like we are tonight…"

He looked at her again and something stirred inside him. He had to ask what he'd been wondering since he'd found the pages in that 2002 planner. He knew he shouldn't, but her couldn't help himself.

"Why did you go to William Gatehouse all those years ago. Why didn't you come to _me_?" It almost sounded like an accusation. Maybe it was. He could see that his question riled her

"Come to you? What, so you could give your sad widowed partner a pity fuck?"

"A pity fuck? I was in love with you back then."

"What?" She looked genuinely shocked.

He was on a tirade now, and his brain couldn't stop his mouth. It's as though he'd popped a top that had been threatening to blow for nigh on decade, and the steam was shooting out in all directions, releasing the pressure. He looked right into her startled pupils.

"If it's honesty you want, I _still_ love you. You should have come to me – not him!" He couldn't hide the jealousy in his voice.

She looked bewildered at his revelation and couldn't seem to formulate a response. He saved her the effort.

"Oh c'mon Eames, don't patronize me by acting like you didn't know, like you haven't always known deep down for all these years. You heard what Dryden said in the interrogation room. He yelled it all over the office."

She sighed, and he hated to hear it. He had embarrassed himself, and her, with his words. At least she would be kind enough to let him down easy. This wasn't going to break _her_ anyway.

"Maybe I suspected at times Bobby, especially lately. But I never really believed that you truly felt that way about me. I thought you just needed somebody to love you, and I was the closest person to you."

"What, you think I think of you as a convenience?"

"That's not what I meant." She sighed again. "Why didn't you tell me before if you felt this way? Why wait all these years?" She seemed to be getting exasperated now. She was wide awake and meeting his heightened emotions foot for foot.

"Like Dryden said, I didn't want to be rejected. Who does? I had hopes the first year or two that you could have felt something for me, but we never did get together. So I had to admit to myself that you weren't feeling it. The very idea that a man would endlessly circle a woman for years begging for a romantic dance is just wrong. It's not fun for either party. We had to become lovers, or become friends. We became friends, and damn fine partners too. I accepted that as a compromise. I was lucky. I still got to know you, have you in my life, and spend my days with you. So I killed my romantic notions for you every way I could." He had been good at that. He'd done the opposite of what his heart demanded in every instance.

"Oh the feelings would resurface from time to time, like when you were away on leave, or when you were kidnapped, but I'd beat them back into submission. I'm a big boy. I could handle it as long as you were my partner. It was only when I was suspended, and I lost you as a friend, that the feelings started to re-emerge with a vengeance. I seem to need your friendship to survive. I spiraled downwards without it. It's not your fault though," he added. "All my wounds were self-inflicted."

He saw her flinch at that. He didn't want to hurt her or make her feel guilty. It really wasn't her fault that she had become the receptacle for his neediness. Bobby got the feeling that this was the longest soliloquy he had given her in all the time he'd known her. He was fucking Hamlet tonight. He could hear rain starting to pour down and hit the glass of the windows. The heavens were weeping for his broken fucking heart and lost dignity. She rested her hand chastely on his arm. She seemed to recognize how hard it was for him. She wasn't going to treat him like a freak for feeling what he did.

"You could never lose me as a friend Bobby, and you deserve to be loved."

But not by you_, he thought bitterly. His heart was shrinking and calcifying now, as it braced itself for her rebuff.. _

She continued her speech. "And your love is, if I'm going to be honest with you too, not…entirely unrequited."

Then, almost in slow motion, both her hands reached for his. Their combined four hands, sixteen fingers, and four thumbs were perspiring as they grasped at each other for maximum contact. She looked up at him coyly. He simply stopped breathing. He needed all his resources for his ears to hear what she said next. He was metaphorically on his knees before her altar.

"You always want the truth Bobby, so the truth is that I have loved you. Not just as a friend, or as a brother, or a partner, but something else indefinable too. I have loved you in one form or another for all of these years."

He wanted to know what kind of love it was she felt, but he sensed that it was not quite the form he dared hope for.

"It's strange that you mentioned the first two years of our partnership. I had romantic feelings for you then too. In fact, I still have an image of you from back then that I can't get out of my head. You're standing there in all your Armani-suited glory, in front of that well-lit purple fake Monet painting, telling me of the naked art you like to think about. You were more beautiful, and more real, than any work of art in the gallery that day. As I looked at you, I was certain that my partner Goren would never see me in that light. I observed the way female suspects and witnesses responded to you, your words, your touch, and your attentiveness. I still see it. I saw it yesterday with Melissa. You flirted with them in a way that you never did with me. You were a brilliant, sexy, kind, gentle man who probably bedded every woman in New York but me. I was your tough, sarcastic, widowed partner, whom you had the utmost respect for. Are you telling me that my memory is flawed?"

He shook his head in protest and released his hands from hers, erratically moving them around in the air. "OK, I was sleeping around at that time, but only to get you out of my system. It was hard working with you all day sometimes. You were so cute, and smart and capable. I couldn't hit on you or flirt with you. It's called sexual harassment. You were my senior partner! Damnit Eames! If I had even the slightest inkling, I would've… God, couldn't you tell? When we did those little undercover role-plays, I was in my element. It was the only chance I got to touch you and flirt with you. "

"Well I guess I've always been pretty good at hiding my feelings."

Goren was truly floored by this knowledge. He could have had her! But it was not lost on him that all her verbs were in the past tense. _I had sexual feelings; you werebrilliant and sexy._ He knew he was no longer that man who had stood in front of the Monet. He was now an impressionist version of that Goren.

She interrupted his thoughts. "Well it was hard for me too, working with you. I never thought I'd seriously proposition you, though I had my fantasies. You were the best partner I'd ever had; I didn't want to screw it up because I had the hots for you. I was afraid of taking such as risky step."

These revelations were almost too much for him to process. He had to know more. He asked her another question, though he was scared to do it. "So you called…Billy instead, why Eames?" He couldn't really understand it fully yet.

"That's a fair question. It was around the time of the Maggie Colter case, you remember?"

He nodded. It was not something Goren was likely ever to forget. Maggie was barely a teen when she had been kidnapped and raped by a Serbian hitman.

"Well you remember you told her that she was not weak, that she was strong because she lived through it."

"Yeah, I remember," he said as his mind drifted back to that day.

"And you also remember that I shot and killed one of the kidnappers."

It did not escape his notice that she didn't call the kidnapper by name. Taking a man's life, even an evil man, was very personal.

"I guess you could say that his death, and Maggie's survival, sparked a…I don't know, an existential dilemma in me. I remember wishing, hoping that Maggie could still lead a normal existence after that. That she wouldn't let it paralyze the rest or her life, or let it stop her from having a first kiss from a first boyfriend."

Goren had always wondered how life would pan out for Maggie too. He wasn't confident of her family's ability to get her through it, but he had been impressed with the girl's strength of character.

Alex continued, "Then I realized that I had let my bereavement paralyze my life. The loss hurt so profoundly that I disconnected from certain parts of myself, my ability to be open to love, to let someone make me smile, to feel vulnerable to someone, and to acknowledge my sexuality. I shut off any chance of intimate relationships. I had become more defensive, more sarcastic with the world. I had tried and failed to start a relationship with _him_." They both knew she meant Kevin Mulrooney.

" I couldn't risk failing with you too. My job was all I had. I knew that Maggie was just a little girl. I had to believe there was a chance for her. What chance did she have at a normal life, if I, a grown woman, couldn't manage it? I was tired of being strong enough to kill somebody, yet not strong enough to love somebody."

Goren wanted to interject, to reassure her. He wanted to apologize for not picking up on her crisis at that time. She was always so stoic and standoffish. Why hadn't he known she was going through this at the time? Couldn't she see that he would have understood and that he lived with similar fears? Then he realized that this situation, for once, was not all about him. So again, he held his tongue.

"So I got out the card, and I called Billy. He was a kind man, and I'm sorry he died in such a horrible way. He wasn't anything like his friend Pentoff. I thought if Billy could just help me to get back in touch with my sexuality, without the emotional risk, then I'd be healed. It was a stepping-stone."

He nodded to show that he finally understood why she needed William Gatehouse.

"I still wish Eames, that you would have come to me, so I could have done the same for you. God Eames, I did desire you back then. Those women, and there weren't as many as you think, were just a distraction. The job was my focus, and my mother. If I had ever even had the notion that you wanted me in that way too…" His head bent in anguish.

"It's OK Bobby. I was too afraid of risking my heart back then anyway. I got over you in time. I had the baby, and I had the job. I was smooth and in control. But then things started to go wrong for you, and you wouldn't let me care for you. I was so angry when you rejected my friendship again and again, and wouldn't take me into your confidence. You concealed, and you pushed me away; you didn't call me for months when you were suspended! So when you came back, I froze you out to protect myself. I've tried my best to keep my distance all year. But when you were poisoned," she choked up." I realized that I don't want to let you out of my life. That's why I came here tonight. I need you in my life. No matter what you put me through. I'm here come hell or high water!"

"Eames, I never meant to.."

"Shhh! We don't have to open any more wounds tonight." She placed a finger on his lips to smother his protests.

He felt completely raw and exposed as she touched his lips with her finger, and then her thumb. A wave of emotional, yet somehow erotic release pumped through him at the contact. He moaned lightly, and couldn't stifle the sound. He was starting to feel those breeding molecules of hope coming to the fore. And hope was dangerous. Hope and her touch, and maybe the bourbon, were responsible for the heated look that was in his eyes right now. He bent his head down closer to hers as he penetrated his dark gaze into her eyes. She shouldn't have touched him in that way. His body and heart couldn't bear it. The electricity in the air was palpable, and a clap of thunder sounded outside. At that, she drew back her head a little and withdrew her finger, and rested her hands safely back on her lap.

Bobby cursed the God of thunder for interrupting their near-kiss.

"See, our timing is always off Bobby, that's all. We weren't ready for each other then, and I'm honestly not sure that we'll ever be ready for each other." Although she was addressing her own lap, not him, he knew she was likely right. With all they had been through, especially over the last few years, they never would have lasted as a couple. It was only in recent years that they had truly come to depend on each other, but it wasn't in a healthy way; and they had both willfully resented this mutual dependence.

Goren's hope met his self-destructiveness head-on in a battle of wills. Part of him almost craved a more definite rejection than she had given him, and part of him was imagining more dreamily than John Lennon himself of a utopian future with this woman. He at least had to try to win. She was worth the risk. He played another chess piece, leaving his king exposed, and an easy target for assassination.

"You say you're not sure if we'll ever be ready for each other. But Eames, I think I might be ready for you now." He put his hand to her chin and pulled her face towards his. He worshipped her with admiring eyes, and his long fingers caressed her face from her temple to her chin. This time she moaned. She closed her eyes. He could feel magic and tingling in his body, and in the room around him. He leaned down to brush his lips against hers. He closed his eyelids as he focused on his sense of touch, trusting it. As his lips made contact with her warm, soft mouth, he pressed in a little more firmly. He didn't want to sexualize or control this kiss. He wanted his lips to be a medium for the love rapture in his soul. He felt, rather than saw, her lips start to move with his; she drew them away only slightly, and then moved forward to kiss first his bottom, then his top lip. He felt one of her hands stroke the back of his neck and tousle his hair. He held her whole head between his large hands as he kissed her bottom and top lips with a burning reverence. She pulled away first, and opened her eyes. Her face was still in his hands, and he took a breath to drink her in. He looked eagerly into her dark eyes, seeking out her feelings. She pulled away from his hands and cast her eyes and lashes down, but it was too late, he had seen it there. Acceptance.

It was, without a doubt, the most sublime sixteen seconds of his life. He knew that he was conceived for the sole purpose of experiencing those sixteen seconds. The memory of them would keep him going longer than any mortal man could ever live. If the universe imploded at that moment, he would die fulfilled. He had probably even found the meaning of life. They were in a blissful plane protected by a dome whose surface could not be penetrated by any earthly or extra-terrestrial means. He wanted kiss her again without delay, but he knew the rules of chess. The next move had to be hers. He looked down at her and dismay quickly filled his heart, overriding the joy. She was crying. Perhaps worlds hadn't collided for her, as they had for him.

"Are you OK Eames?" He put his hand on her knee and rubbed. "Hey, it's OK. I won't do it ever again if you don't want me to." She kept her head down, and wiped her eyes with her hands. "C'mon Eames, don't cry!" He didn't know what to do with a crying Eames. Should he hold her? Did she want him to?

The geeky part of Bobby Goren surfaced in an attempt to help. "You know Eames, kissing is merely a mode of human communication that involves joining lips in order to express positive emotions such as affection, respect, greeting, farewell or good luck. If you don't feel romantic affection or desire for me, I'll understand."

She almost laughed then, and looked up at him. "God Bobby, it's just so difficult for me. I haven't felt anything resembling this for so long."

The dismay subsided, and his heart filled with tenderness. "Eames, can I hold you now? Just a little?"

She nodded, and he put his arms around her and held her as strongly as he could without squashing her. He stroked her hair and smelled the vanilla and cinnamon fragrance, and kissed her on the top of her head. He then was rewarded with the pleasant sensation of her left arm sliding around his waist, and her right arm curling around his shoulder until her hand rested on his neck. Her breasts were pressed against him, and her face was buried in his chest. He felt her inhale too, and then exhale with contentment. He had never felt so close to her. He was starved for this kind of intimacy from her. He clung her with as much adoration as he could. How could he ever release her? She stopped shaking and crying, and was soon calm. He liked feeling the wetness of her tears on his shirt. It was something a husband might have a right to feel. After some time has passed, she started to speak.

"I've been a bad friend to you too Bobby Goren." He disagreed, but let her go on, releasing his grip on her.

"I've hurt you too. My sorrow, my fear, this protracted grief for Joe has hurt you." He stroked her hair and just listened.

"In the bereavement group, the counselor told us that after the loss a spouse, the survivor's pain of loss can be so great, that they never want to experience it again."

He held her more tightly then, wanting to soothe her pain.

"So what happens is that they shut down, and refuse to consider in any future relationship. But when they close off their heart, they deny themselves any possibility of further happiness."

Her head moved from his chest, and she sat up and now cupped his face with her palms and looked at him with her sad eyes. He couldn't believe that she was touching him, and communicating with him so intimately. He felt so human.

"It's worse than that because it means that someone else loses a chance to be loved. There's not only me to think about Bobby, there's you. To think I could have helped end all the loneliness and pain you've been feeling, and didn't have the courage to try."

"But you did ease it Eames. I only made it this far because of you. God knows I pushed you away often enough, but you always came back to me. It's not too late for us."

She nodded at his words, and this time she leaned in to kiss him, first on the nose, then on the lips. Her kisses were quick and chaste, but they were designed just for him. She nestled back into his chest.

He couldn't deny that he wanted to take her to his bed now, kiss her slowly, caress her, and move in and out of her body all night long. He imagined her calling his name as he caressed her knees with her legs wrapped around him. When she climaxed, would she cry out 'Bobby' or 'Goren'?

He wasn't honestly sure if she would welcome such an advance just yet, or if she ever would. She had admitted she loved him in a roundabout way, and she had kissed him of her own volition. She had also acknowledged with words that he was an attractive man, but he could tell that she didn't seem to be quite certain of her sexual desire for him, or of sexual intimacy in general.

He would give her time to make up her mind before he started thinking about her body. It was difficult not to think about it. After all, he'd waited almost ten years for her. Even right now his groin area was reminding him of its existence and neglect. He would have to bide his time. The art of seduction was something he hadn't practiced in a while, and it would be something to look forward to; his mind starting spinning with the possibilities. Didn't fortune favor the bold? It had certainly been proved true tonight.

For now he was more than fulfilled just holding her, and being able to talk to her without those invisible barriers between them. With such heavy rain outside, she wasn't going anywhere. They had both taken a giant leap of faith tonight. It was natural that they would need time to reflect, before deciding what the next step would be.

He held the woman he loved with the utmost contentment and gratitude. This moment had finally come to him, and he couldn't quite comprehend it. It felt all the more extraordinary because it had been denied for so long.

The two-headed albino elephant faded and disappeared from his living room.


	11. Obsessive Love

Bobby was sitting at his desk, lost in Gorenworld. He had an array of psychology textsbooks strewn around him marked with post-its and notations. Among the chapters he had marked were '_Erotomania'_, '_De Clérambault's Syndrome' _and 'O_bsessive Love_'. The catalyst for this research was the love letter resting on his desk.

**Dear Goren, **

**You should probably know that tonight I am going to fantasize about kissing you. I can't help it! I have a fetish for beautiful beestung lips. The thought of your soft mouth on mine gets me through my coldest, darkest hours. I am so very sad right now, and I know that you share that sadness. Please come and see me soon so we can ease our pain.**

**With love and loyalty,**

**Me**

Goren shuddered.

Since his arrest two weeks prior, David Dryden had become increasingly fixated on one Detective Robert Goren. Dryden had made a deal with the ADA to plead guilty on two counts of murder, and serve a life-sentence. The prisoner had insisted on one condition however - that Goren visit him in person to endorse the agreement. Goren managed to dodge the visit by instead making a sympathetic phone call during which he complemented Dryden on doing the right thing. The deal was made. The ADA was thankful- a little too thankful if the truth be known.

Unfortunately, Dryden's interest in Goren hadn't stopped there. Since then he'd received multiple emails, one with an attached video of a bee mating ritual. A sweep of Dryden's prison cell turned up an illicit cell-phone, which had subsequently been confiscated.

Now a brazen hand-written letter had arrived addressed to 'Detective Robert O Goren - Major Case'. It was unsigned, but Goren knew exactly which murderous redhead PhD student had written it. His study of psychology was interrupted by his partner slinking up behind him and grabbing one of his books. Eames sat down at her desk, looked across at him, and started to read aloud.

"_Obsessive Love_ is a state in which one person feels an overwhelming obsessive desire to possess another person towards whom they feel a strong sexual attraction." She paused for a moment to look up at him, but made no comment before continuing the passage.

"There are four phases of Obsessive Love. Phase one is attraction, usually occurring within the first few minutes of meeting. Phase two is anxiety, the need to be in constant contact with the love interest. Phase three is the obsessive period, which can manifest itself in physical or electronic monitoring activities of the object of desire. Finally phase four, the destructive phase, occurs when the relationship is broken off. Anger, rage, revenge, and suicidal thoughts may ensue."

When she had finished her little narration, she looked at him with one eyebrow raised. He raised one of his in response. There was no banter from either, only silence. Despite having admitted their feelings for each other two weeks prior, they had agreed that nothing would change in the workplace. They would continue getting the job done together, just at it had always been. Apart from an occasional stolen glance or a question about that night's plans, they had been exceptionally successful at separating business from pleasure. They had had years of practice after all.

Fortunately, Ross had chosen to make no further comment on Goren's interrogation. The Captain had witnessed Dryden accuse the detective of suffering from an unrequited love for his partner, but had made nothing of it. Goren and Eames had been fearing the Major Case rumor mill after Dryden had yelled 'She'll never want you!" at the top of his lungs as he was dragged away across the bullpen. Reassuringly, it seemed that no one knew exactly who 'she' was. Their colleagues probably put the outburst down to being just another of Goren's eccentric interrogation techniques. Their secret was safe for now.

Goren noted that Eames looked genuinely concerned after reading the excerpt from the psychology manual.

"So do you think that Dryden had an 'obsessive love' for Gatehouse?" she asked him. Gatehouse was no longer a sore topic for either of them.

"It seems to fit the pattern, yeah," he responded.

"And now he's turned his attention to you. I won't lie; I'm worried Goren. He's smack bang in phase two with all the emails, calls and now this." She frowned in the direction of the the letter.

"Yeah well, since phase three is obsessive stalking, I've got nothing to worry about. It would be somewhat challenging to survey me from his jail cell. No Eames, sooner or later, his attention will fall to someone else."

"Well, I hope you're right Goren. He's a dangerous man, and you might not be as forgettable as you think."

Being with Eames was intoxicating. He was enjoying the hell out of this new chapter of their relationship. It's as though they had done everything in reverse, and he was spinning. When most couples first got together, they experienced a sexual attraction and passion which inevitably faded. If they were lucky, the passion transformed into affection and a truer bond was formed. Goren and Eames already had both the connection and affection well constructed. The sexual passion had been postponed for ten years, and the delayed gratification had built an almost overwhelming sense of anticipation inside of Goren. The dopamine, serotonin, adrenaline, testosterone and cortisol had all guns firing through his system; he felt vital.

He was attacking the new case he and Eames had been assigned with vigor. He'd started jogging in the mornings to release his excess energy, and his sex drive was back with a vengeance. This Sleeping Beauty/Beast, who had been in a depressive slumber for what seemed like an eternity, had awoken. And it had only taken one kiss, and an overly long and long overdue conversation, to do it. He couldn't deceive himself however. While all these feel good chemicals were fine and dandy, what his body really wanted to manufacture was oxytocin- a powerful hormone released by men and women during orgasm. And he needed to release it very soon.

They had been out for cocktails after work, and were walking to the subway. They were still in their work clothes, but he had taken off the jacket of his navy suit and draped it over one arm. She was dressed simply in her nicest dark jeans and a coral cotton top. It had a wide collar, which showed off her collarbone beautifully. Despite its having sleeves, it was one of his favorite items from her wardrobe. She normally went for subdued colors, and he liked it when she broke out of that. He noted that neck and throat were bare today. They needed company, and later his lips would offer some.

He felt totally at home walking on the gray pavements under the bright lights of his city. Happiness lurked inside of him, threatening to overwhelm him. He reached down for his partner's hand, and lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. It was the first time they had held hands in public. He was proud to have her hand attached to his. It was so intimate that it was almost embarrassing. Eames must have felt awkward too, because she attempted to fill the silence.

"So the ADA must be very happy with you for calling Dryden. You never told me exactly what he said to you."

Goren contemplated how much to tell her. "Well, he informed me he was accepting his life-sentence not because he deserved it, but to help me look good in the eyes of NYPD. It seems he's worried about my career trajectory."

"I told you he had a crush on you. I could see it straight away."

Goren nodded, but didn't answer. He had no wish for Dryden to intrude on their evening any longer. Her mention of the ADA prompted him to tell her the rest of the story.

"Uh, Eames."

"Yeah?"

"I should probably tell you something." He was attempting to be more open with her. Being open had really worked for him lately.

"OK, I'm listening." She squeezed his hand.

"Well, uh you should probably know that ADA Fletcher offered to buy me dinner the other day to celebrate Dryden's guilty plea. I think she's uh...interested in me."

ADA June Fletcher was an ambitious Amazonian brunette who was as well built as she was intelligent. She had shown tacit interest in Goren a several times over the course of their acquaintance, but she had never asked him out before. Goren just couldn't fathom it. Over the past couple of weeks, it was not just Dryden who craved his attention. Women seemed to be flirting with him left, right, and center. Why now? Was he giving off secret pheromones? He was not interested in June, and let her down easy. She did not take it as coolly as he'd thought and had asked him if his refusal had anything to do with his interrogation, which she had obviously watched. Her comments blew any chance she may have had, which was less that zero anyway, out of the water. Goren was not interested in anyone but Eames, and he wanted to tell her that now.

"What? She asked you out? What did you say? God, that woman is so desperate!"

"Gee thanks Eames!"

"No, I don't mean…. I mean obviously the woman has impeccable taste, but she's going to be disappointed that's all." She extricated her hand from his and backed him into the nearest brick wall, pushing his chest lightly.

He felt his back being pressed against the wall. He was turned on by both the roughness of the wall, and the roughness of her voice. This possessiveness prompted him to look down into her playful eyes and fold his arms, assuming a defensive position.

"Oh yeah, why's that Eames?"

She responded by sliding her hand down his chest, resting it on his hip. She then slid her fingers south and cupped the curve of his buttock – in public.

"Because Goren, you belong to someone else!" she whispered forcefully in his ear (or as close to his ear as she could reach). It was the first time she had touched his ass, and he felt his cock hardening in response to her possessiveness.

"Really, just who do I belong to?" he responded with a look of virtue on his face. Although he was relishing her jealous streak, this woman had total command of him. Goren's faux innocent gaze soon turned to genuine astonishment, as she reached behind him and grabbed his butt with both hands, squeezing it hard. She had never flirted with him in such a sexual way before, and he was loving it.

"Ow! Eames, I'm not a piece of meat!" he protested.

"Oh yeah?" she commented. He thought she was going to reach up and kiss him and his eyes half closed to receive her, but she pulled back at the last second. "Tell that to Dryden." With that, she grabbed his hand and dragged him along behind her to the subway station. It was pretty damn clear to him that she was coming back to Brooklyn for the third time that week.

He figured tonight would go the way it had the previous night. He'd cook her a spaghetti dinner, which she'd eat in an erotic fashion without ever intending to. Then they'd make out on the couch a little, making garlic breath jokes, until the tongue play escalated into more intimate touching. He'd then stroke a knee, brush a nipple and fumble with the button on her jeans. She'd then make an excuse and call a cab. He'd chastely kiss her goodbye, jack off, and then spend the rest of the evening scheming about how he was going to help her get over her sexual inhibitions.

That's how he predicted the night would go. For once, Goren's instincts were wrong.

In the subway car, there were lots of free seats; they chose to stand. He couldn't help but look down at her with love in his dark eyes. He was permitted to do that now. When the train jerked, he put one hand around her waist, and steadied himself by grabbing onto a handle with the other. Seeing her interested gaze, he leaned in slowly, pulled her body in towards his, and kissed her on the mouth. She tasted like gin and vermouth, with a touch of olive, and her breath and skin were hot. He was momentarily lost.

"Get a room Grandpa!" a voice called out. Bobby spun around, annoyed that someone had dared interrupt his private moment- in public. A couple of teenaged boys were snickering at them. Bobby's first reaction was to punch their lights out, but Eames pulled him back towards her.

"It's really not such a bad suggestion," she murmured. He forgot about the boys and looked at her with intense interest, seeking the answer he was hoping for. She nodded only lightly, but he knew she was granting permission. She was ready to sleep with him. He transfixed on her face again, and tried not to look down at her breasts as he imagined what was underneath the fabric.

His reverie was once again interrupted by the teenaged boys, one of whom muttered something along the lines of not minding a go at grandma. Bobby let go of Eames and turned his whole body to face them, taking one step forward. He saw that that the look in his eye was enough. They would not mess with him further. He turned back to face Eames to find her chuckling with a little too much mirth. He was offended for a moment before seeing the humor in the situation.

The subway soon ground to a squeaky halt at a station. Having reached their stop, the boys sauntered confidently past Goren and Eames to the doors. As they were closing, the cheekiest one piped up again in a sing-song voice. "Uh huh, big grandpa's gonna get some toooniiiight!"

Goren looked at Eames, and her chuckling became a guffaw. He joined her and couldn't believe the heat he felt on his face. He was actually blushing. The laughter relieved his tension a little. The thought of sleeping with his best friend after all this years was a weird but wonderful one. He wanted her; there was no doubt about that. Sure he hadn't had sex in years (how did that happen?), but that wasn't why he was nervous.

Bobby had collected enough anecdotal evidence from past sexual encounters to know that he was good in bed. He had no insecurities about that. Like almost everyone, God hadn't bestowed him with an inordinate amount of talent in _every_ arena, but he knew what his strengths were. He could dance, interrogate, learn languages, restore cars, research, and fuck. He definitely knew how to fuck.

The problem was, he wasn't planning on _fucking_ Eames. He supposed he was going to _make love_ to her, and that was scary because he'd never honestly done it before. He felt vulnerable, yet determined. Over the years, he had attempted to crisscross many paths and take side streets to avoid arriving here with her. But there was no denying that all roads led, had always led, to Rome. He got off the subway, took her hand, and led her down the road to his apartment.

He had been planning the perfect night to have perfect sex for the past two weeks: dining, candles, dancing, and high thread count sheets in an expensive hotel room. Now it didn't seem to matter. The only thing that was important that she was near. Besides, there was no such thing as perfect sex. A night like that would have put undue pressure on both of them. Spontaneity was much sexier.

As they walked up his street, he reached out into the cooling night air to touch her shoulder, and then tug her hair. She laughed and squeezed his nose in response. She was smiling so much tonight, and it warmed his heart to see that he could make her happy. As they climbed the stairs to his apartment, he suddenly realized that he had left his expensive suit jacket somewhere. He was about to say something, but in his state of heightening arousal, he let it go. He reached into his pocket and fumbled for his key.


	12. Vanilla Sex and Scheming

The moment they entered his apartment, he felt her lips press against his, and he bent down to meet them on their level. He used her body to close the door behind them, and pinned her against it. An electric passion possessed him, and he was no longer awkward or embarrassed about showing just exactly _how_ he wanted to love her. He ran his hands down the length of her upper arms and kissed her a little more urgently and open mouthed than was probably gentlemanly. Her breath paused, then quickened as she met his lips and returned his gesture, meeting his tongue with hers. He moved his face down into her collarbone and licked it once, tasting her salt, before unleashing his opened-lipped frenzy upon the bare skin he found there. He heard her moan in response and felt the touch of her hands running through his hair before stroking the back of his neck and gripping it tightly. Feeling her touch right there tickled him and caused a tingling sensation which he hadn't expected. Hearing her moan with erotic pleasure caused the tension within him to heighten even further. His arousal was growing. He had to have her now.

He mimicked her earlier move when she had had him against the brick wall, making one slight modification. He slid his hands towards her hips in a flowing caress and pushed his fingers below the waistband of her jeans and panties, and cupped her naked ass cheeks. They felt plump yet firm and he roamed his fingers down further still, feeling the heat and moisture forming there. Not to be outdone by his hands, his lips continued softly assailing her collarbone and the top of her breasts. He was burning inside and out. If he was moving too fast, he didn't know it. He had to trust that she'd tell him if he crossed the line.

He skimmed his hands back up her ass, around her hips until he reached her shirt. He pulled her coral blouse from her jeans, setting her loose. He then looked her in the eye with intrigue as he traced her spinal column with one index finger, and located her navel with the other one. He felt her body quiver in response.

"Oh!" she whimpered. Her skin was starting to perspire and he could smell her sexual arousal already. She was puffed and breathy and lent back her head until it was resting against the door, exposing her neck and lips to more kisses and licks. He reached up his hand and cradled the back of her head while supporting her upper body in his strong arms. She rested her weight into him and let him support her.

He pressed his pelvis against her body, and felt her go weak at the knees. She ground against his thighs. 'Oh God Bobby!' she cried as her hands fumbled around his blue dress shirt and tie, trying to yank them free. Her trembling hands fumbled with his belt buckle. He needed no clearer signal; he reached down to her thighs and put his hands under her ass, lifting her up to bring her face closer to his. It was surprisingly easy to elevate her. She was so light, but so substantial at the same time. God she looked sexy in this state, and he was the one eliciting these sounds and expressions.

He let out a moan of his own as she wrapped her legs around him in a vice grip. She was now face to face with him and as he fixed his eyes on her, he glimpsed her heady desire. She was looking at him as though he was the only man left on earth. As far as he was concerned, he was. He turned around and carried her away from the door towards his bedroom. She continued clinging to him with her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders and her legs lassoing his waist and hips. She was like a koala clawed to its mother. He felt as though she was relying on him to protect her, and never let her fall.

He lay her reverently down on his bed, resting her head on the pillow. He slowed down his exuberant pace, so as not to scare her or break her trust. Besides, he wanted to savor this experience just in case it was the only time he got to do this. He lay down beside her on his back, and then turned on his side to face her. He had no need to speak when he could communicate with his hands and eyes. She then turned on her side to face him and he wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her in close - very close until he could feel the heat of her toned body. Not getting the response he needed, he looked her into her eyes, pleading with her to answer his affection. He then cuddled her close again, and this time she put her arms around him strongly, climbing on top of him as she did so. She pressed a close-mouthed kiss onto his lips, then pulled back and looked into his eyes. She applied her lips to his with greater pressure yet. Her mouth was closed but her kiss was hard, firm and urgent. The message was clear.

Her actions reassured him of her feelings for him, and he rolled her over carefully onto her back, placing himself above her, while resting his weight on his elbows and knees. He had her surrounded and protected from the world. He moved an arm and languidly caressed her breast with his left hand, searching for her nipple under the two layers of fabric. He circled his thumb around it gently. He then had the pleasure of observing her close her eyes before releasing a happy sigh. He wanted to make her happy.

His left hand seemed to have a design of its own as it moved from her breast and sought to have contact with the maximum amount of surface area possible. It headed south through the breathing peaks and valleys of her body, eventually tracing her big sliver belt buckle. Meanwhile, Goren's mouth nibbled and blew at her neck and ears. The airstream startled her, and he was surprised that she pushed him off her a little and sat up on his bed.

She looked at him apologetically. "I just need to get my handbag," she whispered. She gave him a chaste peck on the cheek and disappeared into the living room. She was only gone seconds, but it seemed like an eternity to him. She returned to the bedroom and he expected her to come to his bed. Instead she disappeared into his adjoining en suite bathroom.

"I'll be right back, I promise," she said, closing the door behind her.

He was surprised when he heard the shower faucet turn on. She was showering? What was her definition of 'right back'? He lay back on his bed in frustration, and willed his eager body to cool it. He tried to push away the destructive thoughts that were starting to nibble and bite at his mind. Thoughts that insisted that she loved him in a different way than he loved her, and that she would walk out of that bathroom and out of his life. Why had she withdrawn from him yet again, just as things had gotten steamy and intimate? The healthy, rational part of his brain stepped in to challenge these beliefs. Insecurity was not one of his more alluring traits. Why had she withdrawn then?

Maybe she just wanted to freshen up or put in a diaphragm or something. She always smelled great to him, but they had both been at work for over ten hours. It had been so long since he'd had a woman, that he'd forgotten the bathroom rituals they practiced. He suddenly realized that he could probably use a wash himself and that keeping busy would keep his mind and body more gainfully employed. He got up, went to the hall closet and found a face washer. Using warm water from the kitchen sink, he washed his hands and gave himself a quick sponge bath in certain regions. Walking back to the bedroom, he threw the washcloth into the hamper and surveyed his bedroom for readiness.

There wasn't much to his bedroom, but he was comfortable in it. He had intended to decorate, but had settled temporarily for eggshell walls and a white ceiling. There was a brown oak closet, his treadmill, two bedside nightstands with drawers, a full-length mirror, and dark oak bookshelves. On the only free wall hung his favorite piece of original art. The female artist, Irene Davis, was a resident of Carmel Ridge who suffered from the same mental ailment as his late mother. Irene often spent her days composing oil paintings, and Bobby had been impressed with the amazing artwork she produced. He used to occasionally drop in on her to survey her creations. One day she had insisted on giving him a painting, claiming she had done it with him in mind. It was of a small ship on the tumultuous open ocean at twilight. She explained to him that although the vessel named 'The Zephyr' was clearly battling a violent storm, it would likely weather it. She said that even if it succumbed to the storm and sank, the crew would be carried away by a light zephyr up to heaven, where they would find peace. He smiled at the memory of her explanation. His smiled faded as he surveyed his bedroom. He'd been bothered for a while by the thought that something was out of kilter in this room, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He had a tendency to be obsessive over details, but he realized that now was not the time to worry any details not pertaining to his first night in bed with Eames.

He pulled the brown coverlet and white sheets back from his bed. He then removed his shoes and socks. He dived back into the hamper, and cleaned off his feet with the now cold face washer. It probably wasn't the most hygienic of acts, but he was in a rush. He took off his dress shirt, blue tie, pants and boxers and placed all his dirty clothes in the hamper. He was now standing there alone, stark naked, with a semi-erect penis. He noted the sound of the bathroom faucet turning off. He quickly grabbed a pair of clean black boxers from a drawer. It seemed counter-intuitive to get dressed now, but he didn't want to flash her in all his glory the second she opened the door. He decided on a plain white wife beater and pulled it over his chest, leaving it at that. He briefly contemplated his biceps in the long mirror and smoothed his fingers through his hair. _Holy shit_! he said silently to his reflection. He understood that the next time he looked in the mirror, he would not be the same man.

He then reached into a bedside drawer and found a brown paper drugstore bag. He opened it and located a pack of Listerine strips, and shoved a couple in his mouth while he rifled through the rest of the contents of the bag. He had gone overboard with five different kinds of condoms, and two kinds of lubricant. They hadn't yet had the safe sex talk, and he wanted to be prepared. He chose the KY jelly with spermacide and, just for fun, vanilla flavored condoms. He knew that Eames liked vanilla bean pannacotta, and her shampoo sometimes smelled of vanilla and cinnamon too. Of course it was ambitious to think that she'd put his condom-covered cock in her mouth and taste it, but he hadn't yet ruled it out of the realm of possibility either. He put the items on the bedside stand. What else had he forgotten? He dashed into the kitchen, and brought back his booty. A Sade CD, his zippo lighter, and two mini vanilla-cinnamon scented candles in small metal holders. He lit the candles and placed each one on the stands on either side of his bed. He started up the CD at low volume and the smooth sounds wafted out. He knew Eames liked Sade, and the slow sensual music would complement slow sensual sex. He switched off the main light, hoping he was not being too presumptuous, and sat down on the bed to wait.

It seemed as though Eames had been in the bathroom for half an hour, though it probably wasn't quite that long. He had no true idea of what preparations women undertook in bathrooms. However, he had noticed her little preparatory gestures over the past two weeks. She had got a haircut and a manicure, and had worn just a little more make-up and girlier clothes that usual. It was understated, but he had noticed. He couldn't deny that he had also clipped his nails, shaved, resisted smoking, got a haircut and selected his clothes with more care. It was almost subconscious, but he realized he had been trying to make himself more attractive to her. Human beings were funny creatures. But there was nothing funny about her when she finally emerged from the bathroom.

She was wearing a white silk slip with spaghetti straps and a little lace around the bust. Where had she been hiding that? He knew she hadn't been wearing it underneath her clothes all day. It must have been in her handbag. Or could she have stashed it somewhere in his apartment in preparation? He liked that idea. Wherever the garment had had sprung from, he suddenly felt as though he was on his wedding night. He spoke to her for the first time since they got home.

"You look beautiful Eames," he said softly. He got up off the bed and walked over to her. He was not sure whether she was real or some kind of apparition. As he reached out to touch her, he felt the clean warm skin of her bare arm. His other hand brushed the outline of one of her breasts, rubbing against the silk satin slip. Her hair was a little wet, and he could detect the scent of his sandlewood and bergamot body wash. She was real alright, and completely intoxicating.

"Do you like it?" she looked at him, wanting his reassurance.

"I like…I like it," he nodded.

"What's all this? The music, the candles?" She looked around in wonder.

He smiled. "I'm trying to seduce you Eames." He leaned in towards her.

"It's working," she managed to whisper, just before he captured her lips with his.

She kissed him back and reached her hands up his forearms and biceps with confidence. Her obvious admiration and desire sent a thrill right through him.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you Goren?" she asked between kisses and touches. It was a symphony to his ears. Her hands explored his back and shoulders, and he shivered. At her insistence, he raised his arms and allowed her to remove his wifebeater. He felt naked as she surveyed his chest first with her eyes, then with her hands and lips. A tsunami of sexual urges throbbed through him as she kissed and licked his nipples.

"Do you know how long I've wanted you like this?" she asked softly.

He moved to fulfill her desire by not making her wait any longer. He led her to the bed by the hand, and it was now her turn to reach her arms in the air as he removed her slip. She was completely naked before him. The candlelight complemented her truthful and beautiful form. Her round breasts with their areolae and nipples exceeded his prior imaginings. He fondled them and ran his hand along her hips and cupped her stomach under her navel. He had always wanted to explore that area of her body. She quivered and he stroked her vulva, worshipping her form. She was smooth all over, but left a light covering for him. She was everything he desired and more. He looked into her eyes and the trust he saw there was reflected in his. They wouldn't hurt or reject each other now. She gently pushed him on to the bed and straddled him. She was resting on his now hard cock perched over him like a rare sacred goddess. He felt as though he was among the hanging gardens of Babylon.

They took turns exploring, touching and inhaling one another back and front, jostling to be on top. She pinned his shoulders down on to the bed, and bid him to stay. He did. She slowly reached down and he trembled as she ran her hands down his pelvis in the direction of his cock. The world dropped away and there was nothing else but her, him, and this touching. She peeled off his boxers and quickly resumed her position near his erect cock. He looked down at her, curious to see her reaction to this part of his body. He was twitching and moving his hips involuntarily. She slid her hands along the length of his penis and he hissed as she stroked and tickled him. He lent his head back on the pillow but, ever the pragmatist; he groped around for a condom and the bottle of lubricant. He couldn't truly fathom that this was happening.

She crawled towards him, and he saw her hanging breasts and honey naked skin flash before his eyes, the flame reflecting off her skin. She rubbed her hands along his chest as she reached for the sex items.

He pulsated as she rolled the condom slowly over his length and slathered on the lubricant generously. She then cast the foil packet and plastic bottle of lube onto the floor. There was no need to mention any potential anatomical size discrepancies. He was a man, she was a woman; they'd work it out.

"You look beautiful Goren." She echoed his earlier words and he was turned on even more intensely. He felt her tongue lick the tip of his cock and her mouth moved downwards, taking an inch or two inside. She coated him with licks, humming and moaning while his head turned from side to side on the pillow. He matched her with unusual sounds of his own. His hearing was a little subdued while his dick was being sucked by the woman he loved, but he made out snippets of words like _vanilla_, _succulent_, _Bobby _and _good_. God she was going to have to stop that before he blew!

As if reading his body, she ceased her fellating and climbed up onto him, sitting on his stomach. She was tactile and nubile and her firm and soft body was built for this. Her legs were bent on either side of his hips, supported by the bed. and he could feel and smell her wetness and heat. He badly wanted to go down on her, but she had him firmly pinned. It took all his self-discipline to hand her the control, but he sensed that was what she needed from him. He knew that this was an even bigger step for her, emotionally and physically, than it was for him. He would take her in any way she was willing to give herself. He lost all rational thought as she rubbed her hands along his hairy chest, and raised her hips, lowering herself onto him an inch at a time.

As he cross the threshold into her, he felt the humid dampness within. She was so wet and this helped ease her path as she slid down onto him. She was compressing around him tightly as he penetrated her. The moaning emanating from her was high pitched. He raised his hips just a little and her sounds became low and gutteral. He stroked her clit as they started their motion, increasing the friction and heat. He was giddy with the sensation and the general situation.

"Oh, oooh, oooh Oh!" Goren was surprised that the sounds were coming from him. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. Her eyelids were opening and closing. She looked down at him with an open moaning mouth and she licked her lips and teeth. Her hair was streaming down and she came alive in the candlelight. She was in pure ecstasy and he had brought her there. He took a mental snapshot of this moment before reaching for her hips. He helped her ride him up and down, finding the depth and rhythm she desired.

"Oh, God Bobby!"

Her breasts were bouncing up and down and he reached up, massaging them with his fingers. It wasn't enough for him to be just lying there on his back. He reached for both her hands and she curled her fingers around his and he used his strength to sit up and kiss her. The motion caused her inner muscles to spasm around him and she came hard and fell down onto him. He listened to the sound of her heart beating and felt the vibrations around his cock as he gyrated inside of her. He utilized her subsequent moment of stillness to turn her over onto her back, hovering above her. Their bodies remained tethered, and her legs wrapped around him as he tickled the underside of her knees. She laughed joyfully and called out his name. His fantasy was being realized.

It wasn't textbook perfect sex, but it was designed by them. He had meant to go slower, but it didn't work out that way. Once or twice he bent her leg a little too far in the wrong direction or he rested too much weight on her, or pushed a little too forcefully into her at the wrong angle. And her nail had accidentally scratched him in a sensitive place in the height of her throes, making him wince. At one point, she placed a roving finger not quite where he was expecting as she stroked his joyfully pumping buttocks with her hands, but the imperfection made it perfect somehow. They were getting to know each other and exploring their bodies for the first time, finding out what turned the other on. It was exciting and satisfying because they were in love. Loving her was an extreme sport, and required taking risks. He had to be perfectly still, then suddenly energetic. He needed to be prepared to leap off cliffs, and plunge into profound depths with equal vigor. His adrenaline and testosterone could be smelled in the air, and it merged with her lusty sexy fragrance as he moved in and out of her.

He sensed that he was about to orgasm, so he withdrew himself from her depths regretfully. His face traveled southwards, where he positioned her legs over his shoulders as he cave dived into her, licking up the sweet succulent syrup. He had waited ten years to savor her nectar, and it didn't disappoint his taste buds. He repeatedly and erratically tongued an infinity symbol around her clit and was rewarded by her bucking hips pushing towards him and her feet and heels connecting behind his neck. She came for a second time as she screamed out:

"Goren, GorenGorenGoren Don't stop!"

He didn't. When she settled a little, he released her legs, dragging himself back up to her face. He eagerly dipped his tongue into her mouth, kissing her roughly as he buried his quivering heated cock back inside her. The whimpering he heard as he impaled her told him that his movement had been a little too swift. He started to pull out but her hands on his ass and her widening legs indicated that that was not at all what she wanted. She wanted him to stay right there. He felt his approaching orgasm tingling in his spine as he pummeled into her desperately. He grunted like a caveman and suddenly sank his teeth into her shoulder. He released his bite in order to look into her eyes as he came. He held her face in his hands in preparation. Unrestrained emotions and uncensored words defiantly left his mouth as lightening struck, and his love was released, "Oh, uh..uh...oh Eames, Eames. I love you. Oh God how I love you Eames!" She looked into his eyes as her face crinkled into her third orgasm.

"Uuuh, uhhh, oooh!" she cried as he collapsed on top of her, overpowered and overheated.

It took him a moment to find his bearings. All he could think of was how sexy she was and how much he wanted this always, and how much he loved her. He kissed her on the mouth with a little bit of tongue sliding in. Then he peppered her with more kisses on her cheeks and forehead and licked the place where he'd bitten her, trying to soothe the wound. His full weight was pressed down on her and he wanted to possess and comfort her at the same time. Her legs were splayed out to the side, and he was still inside of her. He stopped his passionate activity momentarily to survey the expression in her eyes. Their mutual perspiration felt hot and slick between their skins, and the sheets beneath them were soaked.

"Goren, never. I've never...Never in my life have I experienced anything so…unbridled like you are tonight. I love the look in your eyes when you love me."

He smiled shyly, and kissed her cute pixie nose. Then she uttered the last comment he would have ever expected to leave her lips at that moment:

"I'm deadly serious when I say this Goren, you should do that professionally."

A deep rumbling laughter built in his chest and thundered up as he rolled off of her. He began laughing uncontrollably for just little bit too long. She laughed too at first, and then she gave him that look she gave when he was being a little too off-kilter. He slowly calmed down to a chuckle and looked at her. She was stroking his cheeks and chin with her hand, and he leaned his head onto her chest, enjoying the physical affection.

He stroked one of her softening nipples, raising its interest once more.

"Can you feel it Eames?"

"Feel what?"

"The oxytocin". He looked up at her, but didn't explain.

"I feel something good. I don't know if it's oxytocin."

"Do you feel like cuddling?"

"Yeah."

"That's the oxytocin Eames." She smiled at him as he put her arms around her tenderly.

They had finally found each other.

Meanwhile:

Assistant District Attorney June Fletcher was ambitious to a fault. She was used to getting what she wanted and accustomed to being the smartest, best dressed, best prepared, and sexiest person in the courtroom, well any room really. One had to be like that if one was going to make it as a DA in New York City. There was fierce competition from both men and women who were just as talented, good-looking, and ruthless as she was. She clocked up her convictions at any cost, and was gaining quite a reputation as an effective prosecutor. She had, in recent months, been assigned to Major Case, where only the most talented were sent.

Several times now she had worked with Detectives Goren and Eames, and they made her look good. On their latest case, she was delighted to find that the strange but intriguing Detective Goren had delivered her a neat confession from a double murderer. David Dryden was a sicko, and probably needed professional help, but that was not her concern. She had bargained with the freak, and got her guilty plea, procuring him a phone call from the detective in exchange.

Detective Robert Goren was an interesting one. She'd watched his skilled interrogations a number of times and had picked up a few questioning techniques by observing him. Although her courtroom style was less empathic, she admired his way of deceiving suspects through the element of surprise, or just by outright lying to them. However he did it, he got results.

She couldn't deny that she found him distractingly attractive, though he really wasn't her ideal type. He was proficient at flirting unintentionally, and the breadth of his shoulders was quite a sight to see. He was a real man both masculine and intelligent, without the ego or vanity. She imagined he'd be a mixture of dominant and commanding, but soft and tender in bed. It had been a while since she'd taken a lover who met her exacting standards. The man was eccentric no doubt, and sometimes dressed badly, but the other day she'd walked into Major Case to find he had shaved and gone designer. She made up her mind to have him.

She thought that perhaps he could lose the tie-clip and could most definitely amputate the tiny blond chipmunk of a sidekick, but he'd do nicely for a while.

June always got the man she wanted, and when he had scratched the back of his neck and turned down her offer of dinner, she couldn't fathom it. Her ego was bruised. She was young, sexy, successful, and single; he should be so lucky. She had bedded and dumped men far younger, richer and buffer than him. She was pissed at his refusal. Who the hell did this guy think he was? She could only surmise that what she had seen during his interrogation of David Dryden must be true then; he was in love with his silly little partner.

She asked the detective outright if he was reluctant to accept her invitation because of what had transpired in the interrogation room, the recording of which she'd watched multiple times. He bid her good day and stalked off with a wave of his hand, muttering something about needing to go back to work. She wasn't used to being dismissed by anyone. Her strong lust turned to strong dislike in an instant.

When David Dryden next contacted her, he threatened to get a lawyer and change his guilty plea. She didn't particularly care since he had already confessed, but she had other cases that required her focus. He was a problem she did not need. She called his bluff, but Dryden raised the stakes. He told her he had some more information on the two detectives who had arrested him. He said it was big and important. All he wanted in exchange was a personal item belonging to Goren. He didn't care what it was, as long as it smelled of him.

June sauntered into Rikers for her visit with Dryden carrying Goren's navy suit coat. She passed it to him, screwing up her face in disgust as he sniffed at it.

"You brought it. How did you get it?" he asked with animated eyes.

"He left it on top of a subway ticket machine. He was distracted."

"Did you send the letter?"

"Yes."

"Did you take any photos of him?"

"Dryden, I'm not becoming a goddamn stalker for you. I've done what you wanted, now spill," she whispered. She secretly thought that it may not have been a bad idea to take a few snaps. It never hurt to have a little inside information on somebody. It was one of the things that had helped her get her current position.

"Well, Detective Eames could be in trouble."

"What? What kind of trouble? Is this because she's screwing her partner? Because I already know that."

"What do you mean?"

"How do you think I got this jacket so easily? He left it behind because she had her hands crammed down his pants while he had his tongue jammed down her throat." She exaggerated a little to cause Dryden maximum distress. It was good practice for the courtroom.

"They're sleeping together? I don't believe it! Are they allowed to do that? They're partners?" Despair crossed Dryden's greasy features.

"Not if they want to keep their jobs," she replied.

"He could lose his job?" inquired Dryden.

"Yes, he certainly could, or at least get a demotion. Fraternizing with your partner in secret is a definite career killer for a cop." She had no intention of blowing the whistle on them. She would instead save this one for a rainy day when she needed a favor. "So Dryden, if you didn't already know that piece of information, tell me why else Detective Eames could be in trouble."

"Well just what you said. She's sleeping with her partner."

June fired up. "That's bullshit Dryden you geeky pimply-faced freak! You've got something else. Don't fuck around with me, tell me what it is."

He cowered. "OK, OK. She's an alcoholic. She loves alcohol. Her home is filled with it. She drinks and drives to work." He winged it, not wanting to reveal what it was he really knew.

"Is that all? You dragged me all the way out here for that! I thought you said you could help me look good. Fuck Dryden you're a deceptive piece of shit." She reached over to take back the suit coat.

"No!" he cried hugging it possessively.

She sighed and decided to just let him keep the damn garment. She sensed his instability and didn't want him blabbering the details if she took back his prized possession. Another inmate would probably steal it eventually anyway. She left him clutching and sniffing at it as she strode towards the door. She addressed the guard with a smile. "I'd consider it a personal favor if you'd let him keep it. He says he'd been cold at night, and it's his favorite one."

"Really?" replied the corrections officer, "Cos I've heard his cell-mate has been keeping him pretty warm."

"Thanks for the nasty visual Officer Craven!" she said sarcastically.

"Always a pleasure Ms. Fletcher."

"I appreciate your discretion as always."

She nodded at him enticingly and walked away clicking her heels and swaying her ass in her tight gray skirt. It was always useful to have prison staff on side, and Craven new how to play ball. She'd have send him a box of cigars.

She arrived back at her office annoyed that this visit had come to nothing. She took a huge risk following Goren and Eames from their workplace and for what? So Detective Eames was a lush – big deal! Still, she stored in her blackmail bank. It could come in handy one day.

Dryden hugged his prized piece of clothing lovingly as he was escorted back to his cell. He was pleased to find his room empty, as he was sore and bruised from his cellmate's constant overtures. He remembered Fletcher's words:

"_Fraternizing with your partner in secret is a definite career killer."_

When had Goren become romantically involved with his partner? After he'd met detective Eames in his office garage two weeks or so ago, he had observed that she was _definitely_ not interested in Goren. She even seemed to despise and resent her partner. What had changed? Maybe June was over-reading things. Anyhow, that bitch detective would soon be out of Goren's life. He just couldn't quite figure out why his plan was taking so long to come to fruition. To think that he had almost let Eames off the hook today and spilled his knowledge to June Fletcher in exchange for a visit from Goren!

As he lay back on his bunk, he recalled the morning of the gigolo's funeral. He didn't expect to be arrested that day, and he was extremely fortunate that he'd already set the wheels of his plan in motion beforehand. He'd been a busy bee that morning. He'd driven to New York fairly early, after spending most of the previous night researching the two detectives. Researching was his job, and was good at it. He had found out quite a number of personal snippets about them, including their addresses.

Before his arrest at 10.30am, Dryden had made a visit to Goren's apartment. When the detective left for work (looking rather casual and spiffy), he broke in. It had been fascinating for David to see the inside of Goren's bachelor pad. It was almost like being inside _him_. He read the titles of all the books on his shelves, and left a little something there for him. After that, he drove over to Detective Eames' apartment, leaving something for her too. Only then did he head off to observe the funeral.

David knew that it was only due to Goren's instincts, good looks, intelligence, strength and competence that he'd been caught for the murders. Right now, David felt so fortunate that he hadn't hesitated in carrying out the details of his greater scheme. It was still going to work!


	13. Great Expectations

Bobby woke up in the dead of night to discover his partner's head resting on his bare chest. One of the candles was still alight, illuminating her face and hair with a soft glow. She looked contented and serene.

_She's so lovely_, he thought to himself. He understood just _how_ exquisite she was more than ever before. She had honored him with the gift of her body and heart. She had trusted and loved him to that degree.

He reflected that he must have been blind or daft not to realize that she had always loved him. He could see now that her feelings had been evermore apparent in her actions and concern for him over the years. There had been countless occasions when she had reached out to him, both on and off the job. He mentally ticked off a checklist: after Nicole got to him, after his mother died, after Frank died, after Declan, after she found out about Brady, and before the events leading up to his six month suspension. Nobody would do that for another person without love being in attendance. He was just profoundly grateful he hadn't quite managed to drive her out of his life for good. It had come so very close during that last case. Only their eleventh hour honesty had saved their relationship from irreparable damage.

Now they'd rectified the situation alright- big time. He'd felt both calm and wild when he explored her body for the first time only a few hours ago. His heart and loins had hurt with the intensity of feeling. He now had carnal knowledge of her. He knew how she tasted all over; he'd discovered what nature of sensations aroused her, and the quality and frequency of the sounds that emanated from her when he touched her in certain places with specific pressures. Most of all, he'd found out how searing her desire for him really was. Her unrestrained want had blown him away both physically and metaphorically, and he had felt and acted equally unguarded while loving her. He had never felt so close to another human being. Would he really be able to experience this pleasure with her again, and often?

He was afraid to speak or move in case this moment vanished like an oasis. He felt tingling vibrations all over his skin and through his organs, and he could feel what were akin to love narcotics pumping and zapping through his system. He was aware of his smile tearing in new facial muscles. This was his sublime hour. He was caught up in his love fatigue.

But, though he felt like a god lying there at that moment, a god Bobby was not. He was a mere mortal, and mortals needed to go to the bathroom. Mortals needed to snack and thirst after skipping dinner and focusing their undivided physical and mental energy onto another being.

He had to pee, and he was famished. With reluctance, he moved his dead (but happy) arm out from under her, and rested her on the pillow, stroking her nude shoulder as he did so. She stirred, but settled. Her eyes remained closed. He got up and padded to the bathroom; he felt dizzy. He closed the door, and looked at himself in the mirror. As predicted, he was not the same man. He had gone through a portal and come out at the other side. He observed a smile on the face of the man reflected in front of him; the expression was something he had not seen for a long time. He high-fived his own hand against the glass, before attending to nature's call. After washing his hands and splashing a little water on his face, he went back to the bedroom.

She hadn't disappeared. She was still there, and very real. The items strewn on the floor provided further evidence that this was not a dream. He cleared up the tissue-wrapped condom and its foil wrapper, and rested the lubricant bottle on the nightstand next to the now open box of preservatives. A few vanilla condoms had spilled out and he could swear he heard them conspiring and begging to be next in line. He felt himself starting to harden, and briefly fantasized about putting one on, gently waking her up, and burying himself within her depths while she was still sleepy.

_ I'm going fucking insane, _he admonished himself. He headed out to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out something labelled "Fresh Orange Juice! No concentrates!", and started drinking straight from the carton. The cool, tart liquid felt like a healing elixir to his body. He stretched and flexed his arms and legs a little. He felt so alive. He left the fridge door open, enjoying the light and coolness that emanated into his dark kitchen. He stood back a little and looked at the referral from Doctor Sanjay which was still attached to his fridge door. He would take it to his appointment that morning at 9.30am, and get his health sorted out. He also decided to seek out a referral for an allergist, not Dryden's allergist of course, but Bobby had been warned that his delayed reaction to the bee venom indicated a sensitivity, which could increase with another significant exposure. He decided to pick up a few emergency antihistamine kits just in case. He could keep one at home, one at work, one in the SUV, and one at her place. _Her place._ Would he be allowed to go there, and spend the night in her bed? Many nights? His health and well-being somehow seemed more important to him now that he had someone else to live for.

That someone else could be heard padding lightly across the kitchen tiles. He could hear and feel her presence before he could see her.

She slid her arms around his waist him from behind, and he could feel she was holding a condom in her right hand. He was fully aware of the contact of her breasts and erect nipples against his back. He understood she was as naked as he was. His sexual desire began to bubble and steam.

"Where'd you go?" she whispered softly.

"Nowhere," he replied just as softly. She pinched his nipples delicately with her fingertips, and a series of lighting bolts struck his groin in succession. He turned around rapidly to face her, carton of orange juice still in his hand; he kissed her hotly and with intent, not neglecting to drink in her bare breasts with his eyes before he did so. She reached up, standing on tiptoes, and melded her lips to his. Just as the world started spinning in reverse on its axis, she suddenly withdrew.

"I'm thirsty," she suggested.

He eyed her with a sly and warning desire. "Then open your mouth."

She looked up at him, parting her lips widely. He lifted up the carton and poured the orange juice into her throat from a height. Her tongue extended, and she gulped down the liquid with a noisy swallow. He ceased pouring, his eyes never leaving her mouth.

"More!" she begged firmly.

He angled the carton at her mouth again and the liquid dripped out slowly out. She had only caught a drop or two when she deliberately moved and pushed him. She squealed as the spilling chilled orange juice made contact with the bare skin of her shoulders and chest.

"You did that on purpose!" she teased.

His head told him to check if she was OK and get her some paper towels. But his cock had better ideas. He deliberately and slowly poured the juice over her naked skin, observing her reaction of delighted and outraged squeals.

"Bobby, stop!" He let the carton drop to the floor in obedience. He could see that she enjoyed his obedience.

"Clean it up!" she demanded.

He grinned lecherously. He wasn't a mortal after all. He was in fact a deity; a large and masculine one with a very long thick eager tongue, and an even longer, thicker and more gung ho cock.

He took the condom from her hand and lifted her across the room swiftly. His hungry lips became magnetically attached to her mouth. He gnashed his teeth against hers, probing in an unrelenting attempt to locate the orange juice which had so recently disappeared down her throat; but while exploring there, he encountered only sex sounds forming in her vocal cords. He positioned her hips with his hands into an upright sitting position on his kitchen counter, and continued to smother her face, collar-bone, neck, shoulders and breasts with his tongue, licking off the sweet warm citrus syrup. She wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him in close, and snatched the condom back from him, unwrapping it. She reached down and tugged at his firm cock with surprising gentleness, her juice covered hands moistening its girth. She rolled on the condom with proficiency. He had only had her in this way once in his life thus far, but he already possessed the knowledge that putting on condoms was something that she was going to do from now on; and he would let her; just as he let her drive the car. They had complimentary skills after all.

He closed his eyes briefly, almost giving in to her touch before finding his resistance. Now it was his turn to drive and he pushed down on the accelerator as he pulled her legs even closer and bore down into her wetness. He cradled her back and caressed her bones firmly. He wanted to simultaneously support her weight _and_ encourage her to push back harder. He grunted as he pumped and stoked his heat in and out of her until she started to cry out in pleasure. She pressed her face and teeth into his chest and clutched onto him tightly with her arms and thighs as he moved.

"Fuck Goren, you're too big. It's too much!" Although it was Mozart to his ears and ego, he sensed a tone of truth in her voice and slowed himself to a near-halt. There had been no lubricant bar her juices mixed with a little orange juice. There was no doubt it was a tight fit. Though he wanted to fuck her until the walls collapsed around them, he didn't want to cause her any pain or distress.

"Are you OK there baby?" He asked soothingly, stroking her cheek and slowly withdrawing. She looked back up at him and her eyes glistened in the light coming from the still ajar refrigerator.

"I'm OK. Don't stop, just go a little slower, OK?"

He blinked and surveyed around his kitchen. Spying the biggest counter, he reached his arm under her knees, and she trustingly put her arms around his shoulders as he carried her there. He turned her over and positioned her torso over the length of the counter, and molding her ass at the right angle. His huge hands cradled her hips with confidence. Some of his past lovers who had not been accustomed to larger men had always found this position a little more comfortable. He kissed her on one creamy buttock and massaged her clitoris with two fingers, eliciting approving moans from her. He tested her wetness with his tongue and nose as he bent down burrowed his face into her. She tasted sweet and sticky and ready for his love.

"Are you ready for me baby?" He asked rubbing his hands down her back. She answered by moving her ass and hips up in the air and onto the counter a little more, widening her thighs until she was comfortable. He required no further response. He braced her in place with one arm and he held her nearest leg in the other as he penetrated her from behind at a sideways angle. He started moving slowly and tenderly before building his cadence. He could hear the slick suctioning of their bodies and smell the sex in the air. She didn't push back this time, but her quick spreading orgasm and the sweet sounds that accompanied it let him know that this was precisely where she wanted to be; this spurred him on. His heat and passion surged towards a crescendo as their bodies ebbed and flowed in and out of each other. His balls started to stir and ache and he clutched his fist onto her hair in response. The wild beast was having his way with his wanton beauty and they both cried out into the New York night.

* * *

><p>Later they had somehow found their way back to his king-sized bed and collapsed into cuddles and more kissing, followed by a couple of hours sleep. At dawn there was a little more kissing and touching as they woke up next to each other, trying not to feel too overwhelmed. Now it was 6.30am, and the two of them were in the kitchen again with cups of coffee and avocado on sourdough toast. There was very little conversation. They weren't exactly awkward with each other, more shy and sheepish. They kept glancing at each other and smiling, making a bit of small talk, and looking away again. The kitchen clock was ticking, but it sounded more like singing crickets trying to fill the silence. They were both internally reviewing their mutual displays of sexuality which had been expressed, repeatedly, throughout the previous night. He was worried that he'd gone too far by telling her he loved her and by - well let's face it - fucking her hard all around the surfaces of the kitchen where they now sat eating breakfast. The traces of orange juice still on the floor had not gone unnoticed by either of them, and Bobby's bare feet stuck to the tiles in places when he moved around. Eames was bravely trying to be at her conservative best as she ate her toast. She was now fully dressed in her work clothes from the previous day, while Bobby was back in his wifebeater and boxers.<p>

She had just called a cab with the intention of going home and getting changed before going into work. Bobby wasn't going into 1PP until around midday because of his doctor's appointment. They glanced up at each other silently once more, and a mutual look of recognition passed between them. They had seen each other naked. This was new.

The sudden honking of the cab outside had him rising quickly to escort her to the door.

"Good luck with the appointment," she said.

"Yeah. OK. Call me if you need anything. I mean, with the case…or anything." This was awkward.

She nodded. "OK, I'll see you at work," she said breezily. Her voice was trying to sound as though this were the most normal conversation in the world. She was hiding part of her face under her tousled blond hair, as she sometimes did.

"Yeah." He looked at her, not knowing what to say next. He shoulders were stooped a little.

She returned his gaze, wanting something more from him. "Everything will be normal at work, right?" She looked apprehensive.

He nodded lightly and smiled at her. "Of course it will" He reached out for her shoulder and pulled her towards him. He bent to kiss her on the mouth resting a hand on her jaw. He'd meant it to be a peck, but she tasted so good that couldn't help but deepen it once he had made contact. It probably wasn't the right way to reassure her that things would be normal at work, but it seemed like a good idea anyway.

The cab beeped again and she pulled back from him, gripping his fingers before letting go. "OK. Bye then.. uh..Goren."

He smiled because her stilted speech sounded something like he'd say. The touch of her fingertips charged him, and he felt the loss of her contact. He watched her lithe form as she turned and walked away into the morning. "Alex?" he called out. He deliberately used her first name after she had called him 'Goren'. Things had changed between them.

She turned. "Yeah?"

"Do you think I could uh.. stay at your place tonight?" He was nervous. He really needed to know if or when this was going to happen again. She beamed at him brightly. God how he loved her light and dark eyes when they smiled!

"Yeah, you can come over tonight." She turned then, and scurried off down the stairs leaving him staring in awe at the space she had just occupied. Life really could change from one day to the next. The sudden changes in his life had always been for the worse. Now he had this one to make up for it all.

Goren closed the door and walked back into his bedroom indecisively. He then cleaned up the kitchen a little, not wanting to take a shower just yet because he liked smelling of _her. _ He walked back into his bedroom and looked at the messed up and twisted sheets. He couldn't fathom the memories as anything real just yet. He lay down in his bed for a moment and pulled the top sheet over him and inhaled the heady fragrance of her scent mixed with his. He lay his head back on the pillows, and started to relax. His eyes roamed over the bookshelf that faced him on the opposite wall. He would have to dust them sooner or later.

Suddenly he sat bolt upright, as the realization of what was out of place in this room dawned on him. It had been niggling at the back of his mind for a couple of weeks- that book! He got off the bed and dashed over to the bookshelf and read the spine of the imposter novel. It was a slim brown leather bound copy of _Great Expectations_, but it did not belong on his shelf. Even though he owned a copy of this book, this was definitely not his. He carefully removed it from its place, and it came slowly. It was attached to a wire!

The thin wire was threaded through a small hole in the back of his bookshelf where a screw had been removed. He didn't need to check it out to know that it must be powered up behind the bookshelf. The book was a little too light and felt false and hollow. Bobby quickly located the miniature 'nanny camera' embedded in its spine and a surging feeling of disgust at the violation swept over him. Someone had been filming his bedroom for God knows how long. Someone had been watching _them_.

He closed one eye and focused purposefully into the lens of the camera with the other. He uttered a very sincere and specific threat in slow menacing tones."Just know that I'm coming for you and when I find you, I'm going to fucking dismember you! You hear me?"

He severed the wire with his teeth.

* * *

><p><strong>Alex's reflection<strong>

Alex had just arrived back at her apartment. She was showering, taking special care of her tender areas, as she contemplated the last twelve or so hours of her life. She found herself smiling uncontrollably and in a swirling state of bliss. How had she waited so long for this man when he'd been right there beside her? She wanted to feel sorry for that fact, but if she'd slept with him sooner, then she would never have had this memory of last night. It was the single most romantic and intense night she'd ever spent with a man. She hugged herself as the warm water flowed down her skin. With her thumb, she stroked the mark on her shoulder where he had bitten her in the throes of his first climax. He was hers at last.

How had this finally happened?

Part of it was seeing him lying in a hospital bed attached to a heart monitor. It had shaken her to the foundations, and she'd spent a seemingly endless night at the hospital stifling the urge to lose it and weep uncontrollably in front of Ross. Goren was not unbreakable, and could be taken away from her. The last thing she had said to him was that she hated him. Unfortunately, she'd had the two closely aligned emotions confused that evening. What she had meant to say was that she hated that she_ loved_ him, and that she was scared that he wouldn't respect her after he'd found out what she'd done.

After he was released from the hospital, she'd watched him interrogate Dryden through the glass. Her partner basically admitted that he was in love with her, but afraid of her rejection. He had called her that night despite his fear, and she had gone to him. They talked honestly and truly from their hearts for the first time ever. He had understood her need for Billy Gatehouse at that dark time in her life. He accepted what she'd done without reservation, and he'd confessed his long-time love for her. Then he kissed her.

With that kiss, a new world had opened up, and it had overwhelmed her for a time. In the days that followed, she took it slowly to test if she would be capable risking everything - their friendship, their hearts, and their jobs- for love. If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit that she was terrified of experiencing true intimacy again. That was why she had gently rebuffed his sexual advances for two weeks (and eight or so years). She was afraid of being with a man, this man, because she loved him. Love involved risks; love could lead to almost unbearable pain and loss. Still, she found herself going back to his apartment for more of his non-professional company and passionate kisses. He was so much more outside of work. How had she been afraid of this?

Another petty yet significant contributor to last night's capitulation was undoubtedly June Fletcher. When Alex had found out that that the Glamazon prosecutor was interested in Bobby – _her_ man- the green-eyed monster had reared up its bulbous head. In response, Alex grabbed Bobby's butt in the street and rammed him up against the wall, groping it. Although she had been making preparations like waxing and buying lingerie, her driving urge to jump his bones surprised her. She couldn't stand the thought of him belonging to another woman. The final straw that broke the camel's back occurred on the subway car, when he had held her and kissed her. Like an alcoholic, she had her moment of clarity. She realized that she had to take what she wanted before it slipped away.

And then she had partaken of him at last. Her long-time burning and yearning for the man's body and mind had finally come to pass, and he had exceeded all of her expectations in bed. He'd rolled and writhed around and told her that he loved her. He'd then repeatedly demonstrated his words with his body, and his tongue, and the touch of his fingertips. Those magic hands: gentle, exploratory, sensitive, expressive, probing...those feet were definitely size thirteens and he was going to take some getting used to, but she was up to the challenge if he was. His whole body smelled so good, and tasted so savory and masculine, with just a hint of vanilla bean pannacotta now and then.

Reflecting back, Alex felt a little regretful that she hadn't had the courage to return his 'I love you.' She cringed at she thought of her reply: '_I love the look in your eyes when you love me' _That _was_ true, but she had held back when he had not. She would not make that mistake again tonight. Tonight would he would be in _her_ bed? She could barely get her head around last night.

He had made love her in two utterly distinct ways. The first time it had been the Bobby she loved, with all his detailed intensity focused on _her_ for once. To receive his expressions of love had been almost too much closeness to bear. It was as though he could see right through her.

Alex turned off the water and toweled herself off. She was going to need some cold cream, and she smiled with embarrassment as she remembered why.

The second time he transformed into Goren The Great. He had taken her firmly and decisively over the kitchen counter, containing her in his brawny clutches, and she had let him do that to her willingly; she had just opened her legs and yielded. This wilder more voracious side of him scared her. It wasn't him that was scary, she trusted him completely, she was just scared of how much it had turned her on. She was never going to be able to look at a carton of orange juice again without blushing or walk by a kitchen without remembering.

Although she felt guilty for thinking it and knew it wasn't right to make comparisons, no man had ever made her feel as exhilarated as he had last night. It wasn't just his sturdy desire, his technical skills, or the size of him; it wasn't even that she had denied herself for so long; it was _how_ he loved her. He loved her while possessing the knowledge and understanding of everything that she was and everything she had done. What's more, he loved her at his own tremendous personal risk. He had been unarmored for these past fourteen days, like a turtle without a shell. For a man with an abusive history like Bobby's, there had to be no greater risk than placing his fragile heart and mind in the hands of another and hoping for its acceptance. He had done that for her because he loved her so much. She would do her best do reward him for his trust from this day forward.

She heaved a few romantic sighs as she dressed and pulled on her boots and longed for his touch once more. She felt like a _violently in love_ character from a classic novel. She was relieved that Bobby was coming in a little later to work. Sure she wanted him to keep his appointment, but mainly she needed some time to regroup and compose herself.

_How the hell am I not going to let this show on my face when I walk out of those elevators at work? How in heck am I going to even walk straight? And what is he going to be wearing when he arrives at lunchtime?_

There was only one answer of course- coffee – strong, sweet and lots of it. She ground and brewed up some of the good stuff. She was surprised to find that there was barely half a teaspoon of sugar left. She had gotten through that last packet very quickly. Why hadn't she noticed? She would need to start checking her sweet-tooth. She poured the few remaining grains in her mug, but it still wasn't enough. She fumbled round the cupboard looking for more, even the diet chemically-laden stuff would do. Hadn't her sister left some artificial sweetener?

Defeated, she started to drink her bitter coffee. Suddenly, a light bulb went on. She reached into the kitchen cabinet and found the condiments. There was an old bottle of maple syrup, and bingo -an unopened jar of honey that she couldn't even remember buying. She recalled for a moment how Dryden had put honey to put in her coffee when they had talked to him at the college. It had tasted good, and she'd meant to try it again. She suddenly felt that memory was from another lifetime, one before she had been with Bobby. He was sweeter than any honey. Distracted by her memories, she sighed dreamily once more.

Although putting honey in her coffee might remind her of that creep Dryden and his obsession with Bobby, seriously, was she never going to eat honey again just because of a now solved case? She opened the jar and spooned in a little too much and stirred. She moaned lightly at the smooth taste. She was really going to have to tell Starbucks about this combination. Although it wasn't nearly as delicious as all-night sex with Bobby, it was delicious all the same.


	14. Raisin Pie

**Warning: This chapter contains disturbing content and is rated M. There are mentions of masturbation, institutionalized male-to-male sexual abuse, voyeurism, bad language, violence and sadistic dentistry.** **You may want to skip it and resume the story at the next chapter instead. **

Goren methodically ransacked his apartment, but found no further cameras. The whole time his head was posing question after question in order to come up with a theory_. How long has it been there? Why didn't I see it sooner? Who would have a reason for watching me? Where is the footage being transmitted? How can I contain it if it's online_?

As sickening as it was, he could handle the thought of footage of himself walking around naked or jacking off being out there. But the idea of the most private and meaningful night of his life being observed by another enraged him. He knew the lighted candles would have provided a fairly clear view of him and Eames. He just hoped to God that no one had seen it yet.

Eames! It had taken so much for her to finally come to his bed. He couldn't tell her about the camera just yet; at least not until he had tried his utmost to find out what was going on and contain the situation.

If Goren ever misplaced an item, he often searched for it in places where he knew it couldn't possibly be. Likewise, his mind was now putting forward some wild theories for evaluation. The deceased Nicole Wallace had done it! It was Declan! It was Jo! It was Stoat! It was Copa! It was Ross! It was chief fricking Moron! He discharged these thoughts from fluttering around his brain and started reasoning.

The book hadn't been there long. It wasn't covered in dust like the others. It had to be Dryden or someone acting as his proxy. If Dryden was indeed obsessively fixated, then the pattern suggested that he had now entered the stalking and surveillance stage.

Goren recalled his interrogation of David Dryden. He remembered that Dryden had become infatuated with William Gatehouse upon their first meeting. A few weeks later, he'd even blackmailed Gatehouse into a sexual tryst by claiming that he possessed surveillance images of him and Emaline Moses together. Dryden told Bobby he'd only been bluffing about the surveillance, but had he? He'd probably bought the book-camera long before he met Goren. Such items were easy to purchase online.

Dryden had knowledge of sophisticated cameras systems. He had not only disabled cameras at the two crime scenes, but had also used them document bee behavior for his research. He would have likely kept any footage on the college server. That would be a place to start looking. So when could Dryden have installed the nanny cam in his apartment? If Dryden had placed the camera, there would be little point in wasting time checking for prints or DNA. He had done an almost professional job at cleaning the crime scenes of the two murders he had committed.

Dryden was arrested the day after he and Bobby had first met. Surely he couldn't have rushed down to make a visit to the apartment and set up the camera before the funeral. Supposing he had gotten someone to do it for him. There were plenty of unsavory types in Rikers who could arrange a job like that.

Bobby called Lewis to borrow a car. He felt bad for not having talked to his buddy in so long, but would have to make it up to him later. Lewis understood his detective friend without asking questions. He arranged to have one of his apprentices drop off a plain white sedan within the hour. Bobby dressed himself in a gunmetal gray designer suit and crisp white dress shirt. He adorned this with a solid claret three hundred dollar piece of neck-wear. He attached a silver tie clip and put on his shoes and socks in a robotic fashion and went for his holster and badge. His body was on autopilot.

Goren was on a monomaniacal mission to hunt down whoever was responsible. He was going to Rikers. He would first check out Dryden's list of visitors, visit the creep to ascertain whether he had done this, and locate and delete the footage. He would then ensure that Dryden, and anyone else involved, would not get so much a single wood shaving to line their coffins.

He ushered the prized memories of his night with Eames to a safe and far-flung corner of his mind. He needed to focus. A text message informed him that his car was ready. After a quick handshake with the apprentice, the keys were in the ignition and Goren was en route.

**RIKERS ISLAND**

Goren paced up to the entrance in his shiny black shoes. It was an off-putting salmon colored building and it looked barren under the gray sky. The only adornment was a few licks of red paint on the windows and rolls and rolls of barbed wire. A low pitched and disquieting alarm sounded out, indicating a change of shift. As he signed in, Goren noted that this facility had an air of human misery surrounding it. He wasn't a fan of jails, but who was?

There were around 11,000 inmates here, most of them awaiting trial. Goren was only interested in one. Dryden's visitors' list consisted only of a court appointed lawyer, and ADA Fletcher. He was an isolated man then. The latter name gave Goren pause, but he shook off his gut feeling that told him she had visited on more occasions than necessary.

Goren waited in a small cold light gray visitors room. He was pleased that he did not have to see Dryden behind glass, one of the perks of being with Major Case. As he waited, his left leg shook involuntarily. Goren decided he would initially approach Dryden in a semi-pleasant way. After all, honey was better than vinegar when trying to catch a fly. If he went for the jugular like he wanted to, he might not gain the information he needed. Besides, there was only a remote possibility that Dryden had seen last night's footage. The door opened, and Dryden was led in.

"Detective Goren! You've finally come!" Dryden had look of smug triumph at the substantiation of his belief that this visit would occur.

The escorting guard gave Goren a once over. "I'm officer Craven. I can wait in here or just outside the door. Whatever you'd prefer Detective… Goren, is it?"

Goren knew this wasn't protocol, but he nodded anyway. Another perk of being with Major Case he supposed. "Thank you officer. I'd like to talk to him alone. I'll call if I need your assistance." Craven nodded and closed the door behind him.

Goren shook Dryden's extended hand firmly, looking into the prisoner's eyes as he did so. He was immediately taken aback by Dryden's appearance. His formerly intelligent brown eyes were now cloudy and untamed, and his reddish brown hair had been shaved off. Goren noticed light bruising all over his neck and face and at least three teeth were missing. He'd been having a hard time of it apparently. Goren's heart couldn't raise any sympathy for the man right then.

"Take a seat Dryden," he ordered. Goren observed Dryden wincing as he sat down in the chair. He'd been having an extremely hard time of it then. The prisoner composed himself and looked across the table. It was as though they were back in that interrogation room together.

"Just like old times, huh?" commented David nervously.

Goren raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. Dryden was actually flushed, blushing even, which made his angry red pimples stand out even more against his orange uniform.

"So detective Goren, is this visit personal or official business?"

"I'm not sure," answered Goren honestly. He really wasn't.

"Well I must say that you look very handsome today detective."

So that was how it was going to be now. Goren nodded an acknowledgement of the compliment, but didn't speak. He felt his phone vibrating his pocket and wondered if it was Eames.

Not getting quite the response he'd hoped, Dryden continued, "Why haven't you come to see me before now? Didn't you get my messages?"

Goren answered him then. "Dryden, the case is over. You confessed. Why would I be in a rush to visit you?"

"Call me David," he insisted.

"OK David. What makes you think I would be in a rush to come and see you?" Goren raised an eyebrow again. He was attempting to elicit verbally whatever the hell was going on in Dryden's twisted head. Something was definitely brewing in there.

"Are you seeing someone Goren? That's it, isn't it? Fletcher says you're screwing your partner. Is she lying just 'cos she wants me to be mad at you? That Fletcher bitch wants you for all for herself."

Goren bristled internally at Dryden's outburst. Clearly, Dryden was even more obsessed than he'd thought. He actually seemed to be accusing him of infidelity. Luckily, it was apparent that he hadn't yet seen the recording of him and Eames from last night – thank God! And evidently June Fletcher had been putting her oar in this situation. Could Fletcher be the one responsible for the planting the camera? He would have to tread carefully to get maximum information from this weasel.

"What do you think is going on between me and my partner David?"

"Well, since you asked, I don't think you're sleeping with her. It could get you demoted, and besides, she's not into you anyway. You think that you love her, but you're wrong. Just like I was wrong for believing I loved that gigolo. But I do know that she's been at your apartment lots of times. Why was she there?"

Dryden must be viewing footage then. Eames had come over to his apartment many times over the past couple of weeks and had often walked through his bedroom to use the bathroom. "We were discussing a case. We're partners. How do _you _know she was in my apartment? Did Fletcher tell you that? She's a smart woman."

"Her? Oh please. She's all bark and no brains. I'm the one that needs to watch you Goren; watch that you don't stray too far from me. I have my eye on you. I've had my eye on you for weeks."

Goren rubbed his jaw with his fingers."Great Expectations" was all he said in reply.

Dryden looked intrigued and moved forward in his chair. "So you _knew_ I was watching your bedroom, and you let me. I could tell when I looked around your apartment that I'd chosen the right title. We have so much in common Goren. You have no idea how much just yet. I've had _great expectations _for us from the moment we met.

Goren shot him a look of exasperation. "Why?" he demanded, laying his palm and fingers flat in the middle of the table.

"I know you're confused. You think that you don't love me. You think you couldn't make love to a man like me. Billy was confused too. Look where that got him."

"Are you threatening me?" asked Goren seriously.

"No. I just want you to understand," he whined.

"David, I know that I'm just not interested in men." He looked at him directly to try to convey the truth of it and shatter the fantasy world he was living in.

"That's what Gatehouse said. He lied. I used to deny it about myself. I lied. This isn't about being gay, it's about love."

"I can't love a man in that way Dryden - that I know."

"Well, _I_ know you were thinking about me when you touched yourself almost every night. I watched you do it. I've been thinking about you too. When they… _hurt_ me, and you have to know that I have no choice but to let them, I close my eyes and imagine that it's you. It would be OK if you were the one hurting me like that. But sometimes I'd like you to be gentle with me too." His voice softened with the last few words and he looked almost timid.

"You've been sexually assaulted in here?" Despite this being a delusional double murderer sitting before him, Goren still had an itch to know what was going on in this prison. He had been an inmate in a corrupt prison, and the experience had not been a pleasant one.

"Understand that I only let them do it to me because of you. I exchange myself for Internet access so I can see you. It is a sacrifice I had to make for our love. I'm making an even bigger sacrifice too."

"What do you mean?" asked Goren,. He already knew that Dryden had been sending him emails, but he didn't know what Dryden had been doing in exchange. Why the fuck did there seem to be WiFi is this prison anyway?

Dryden's finger pointed at the gaps in his teeth one by one. "They wrench out one tooth per day. It hurts, but I endure the pain for you, for us."

Goren felt sick to his stomach as he realized the implication, and turned away almost involuntarily as Dryden started to speak again.

"In a month or so, when it's all healed, you can come here for a visit. The officers will leave us alone. We have a deal. Then you can slide down into my throat just as often as you like, and it'll feel as soft as velvet. My mouth will be all gums, without any sharp edges. I'll feel just like a woman, if that's what pleasures you at first."

Goren looked across at this battered and bruised man. He was trying to look seductive, but it just came out tragic and desperate. He was delusional and clearly needed psychiatric help. "Nothing of the sort is ever going to happen Dryden." Goren stated firmly.

"I know you're fearful of it, but you just wait and see what it feels like. I'll hold on tight and you can close your eyes and…"

Goren shook his head and cut him off. "It's not fear."

"Then what is it sweet pea?" Dryden reached over and rested his palm on top of Goren's hand. Although the detective was experienced at masking his feelings through extended undercover work, his breakfast lurched inside his stomach.

"David, it's because you don't trust me. Love requires trust. You're watching me with that camera because you don't trust me."

"I can trust you. I can try." Dryden looked eager as though he'd do just about anything for Goren's love.

Goren knew how to play him. He would provoke Dryden's jealousy of the women in his life, and exploit his concern for his NYPD career. Dryden had a real bee in his bonnet about not being admired and recognized in the workplace, probably stemming from his failed research.

"David, I could be comprehensively humiliated if any of those images leak out. Can you imagine my partner and ADA Fletcher looking at video of me touching myself? June asked me out not long ago, so I know she's interested in me."

"Fletcher asked you out? That bitch!"

It hadn't escaped Goren's notice that one of Dryden's hands had slipped under the table at the mention of the masturbation footage.

"David, stay with me here," Goren coaxed.

Dryden's eyes, which were starting to close, shot open. "Oh I'm with you. But don't you worry raisin pie; no one will ever see it. Only I have the password."

_Raisin pie_? wondered Goren. He almost laughed at the choice of endearment before composing himself as he remembered why he was here.

"Don't patronize me David. I'm an NYPD detective. I may not be as adept with computers as you are, but I know this kind of stuff spreads like wildfire. I don't intend to be humiliated."

"I said not to worry. It's safe. Well relatively anyway, I swear! I've put a firewall in place, and it's all labeled as apicultural research. No one will ever look at it. I just stream it straight from the Brownlow server."

"_Relatively_ safe? I can't take that chance David. How can I consider _being_ with you when you don't trust me and feel like you need to watch me 24/7?" He gestured his head towards the closed door and lowered his voice to an angered whisper. "Do you want the corrections officer to catch us in the act so I'll be thrown in here with you; is that it? You want me to lose my job in disgrace? Would it make you happy to see my career in tatters? A cop wouldn't last five minutes in Rikers and you know it."

"That is NOT what I want Goren. God! How could you even think that?" Both of Dryden's hands were now back on the table. Goren rested his hands softly on top of Dryden's, ignoring the sweat. He put on his most pleading puppy dog look.

"Then help me David! Major Case already has your computer. And lets not forget the cell phone that was confiscated from your cell search. It must have some kind of history."

"There's nothing on my computer and there was no SIM in the cell. I told you, everything's safe on the college server."

"That's not good enough David. What about Melissa, the admin? She knows everything that's going on at Brownlow. She hit on me too you know, flirted with me and eyed me up and down. Oh she'd love to get her hands on that footage."

"I'll delete it all as soon as you go, I'll delete every file. I promise I will. You don't have to worry."

"That's all well and good, but you know as well as I do that there'll still be a back up on the server.'

Dryden gripped his hands tightly to Goren's, vying for top position. "OK. Yes there will be files on the Brownlow server, but my folder is a hidden one. They're amateurs up there. You've got nothing to worry your pretty head about."

Goren shook his hands free. "Damn it! This is my life Dryden – my livelihood. Your assurance means nothing to me." Goren slid his chair back, as though he intended to walk away. It had the desired effect.

"Look, I'll give you the password for my account and for the university server. The server password changes on the last day of the month, so you still have one or two days to get access. Melissa can probably help you do that without letting the IT department know. Just watch out for her is all. She's a slut. I heard that she spread gonorrhea around the dorms. "

Goren pulled out his phone, masking his disgust. "OK, I'll watch out for her. Just give me the password to your account and the server." As he passed his phone to Dryden he noticed a missed call from Eames registered on the screen, but he put it out of his mind.

"She's leaving you messages?" asked Dryden suspiciously.

"It's my work phone. We're partners. We're working a new case. Of course she calls me!"

That seemed to be enough to placate him, and he keyed in his passwords. "Just ask Melissa how to view hidden folders on the server and backup, and enter the two passwords. The folder you want to delete is called GE."

_Great Expectations._ After checking that Dryden had entered the information, Goren stood up to leave. "I have to get going now David. I want this erased today."

Dryden looked at him with disappointment and stared at Goren's chest. "I understand I guess. Can you at least leave me your tie clip? I'll give it back when you come and see me again," he asked. His voice betrayed his desperation to prolong their contact.

"I don't know Dryden. We'll see how this goes. I'll need some time to cool off before I can trust you again."

"But you HAVE to come," he said petulantly.

Goren walked towards the door, ignoring him. It was all he could do to stop himself from decking the guy. He had already found it hard to mask his contempt for the man. Dryden must not have noticed because practically everybody must look at him that way.

"Goren, if you come back tomorrow, I'll make it worth your while. I'll tell you something about you partner; something only I know."

Goren stopped in his tracks and a wave of dread rose steadily from his toes to his throat. He turned back around slowly to face off with the malevolent little prick who was sitting relaxed in the chair. He was resting his palms behind his head with his elbows sticking out, just like Goren had done to him in the interrogation at 1PP.

Goren jabbed an index finger towards him, edging closer to his chair. "What do you know about my partner?"

"You'll find out if you come back tomorrow." His voice sounded mocking.

Goren was suddenly concerned. Could Dryden know that Eames was a former client of William Gatehouse? He supposed it was possible. This guy was quite the stalker and a good researcher. He was suddenly overcome with anger at all the damage guy had done, and was going to do yet. Without thinking, he rushed at Dryden and fisted the fabric of his orange uniform with his right hand, lifting him up out of the chair. Goren was a south paw and his left fist was ready to attack.

"You tell me Dryden. Tell me what you know!" Goren's breath was heavy and he involuntarily sprayed spittle over Dryden's beat up face. He was only four inches taller than Dryden, but it seemed like four feet. An evil darkness floated over the prisoner's eyes as he bore them up into Goren's furious ones.

"I knew it!" he spat back, "You're seeing that bitch behind my back aren't you! Maybe even all those bitches, but you only love Eames. That's why she's at your place night after night. I've seen her walking through your bedroom and into your bathroom. You may not be fucking her yet but you plan to, don't you?" he accused. The reed-like quality of his voice dissipated as his volume increased. "So Fletcher wasn't lying then. She told me that Eames had her hands crammed and rammed down your pants and you had your tongue jammed and slammed down her throat. You bastard! You cheating bastard! But you'll pay for it because I'll never tell you what I know now!"

Goren pulled Dryden even closer to him with his right hand, and punched him in the nose with his left. The force of the blow was deliberately restrained, enough to stun him but not to break his nose. His left fist hovered over Dryden, ready to strike again as a small amount of blood trickled down Dryden's mouth. "You'll tell me if you want to live." Goren stared him down, but Dryden wasn't cowering. In fact, he looked enraged. It was as though his ire was about to explode in a big way.

Dryden's voice was now at a yell. "Oh, I'm going to live alright; don't worry about that. And you _will_ come back to visit me, and you _will_ fuck me; and you _will_ suck me; and you _will_ enjoy it. And all the while you should be hoping that a bee doesn't come right out of nowhere and sting you. Next time you're exposed to venom, I think it might kill you . It would be a pity to have a forth funeral on my head."

Goren wanted to pound him again, but instead shook him roughly. "A forth funeral, what do you mean a forth funeral?"

"Oh, you won't know where or how or when, but she's already as good as dead. I plan to send the most beautiful pink and white flowers to the service."

Goren briefly contemplated ending Dryden's life with a few quick cracks of his head against the brick wall, but the vibration is his pocket interrupted his wrath. Eames! If he killed Dryden now, he wouldn't find out the details of this threat.

Hearing all the yelling, officer Craven finally burst in on the scene. "Easy detective Goren. Let him go. This piece of shit is not worth a dime," he said calmly.

Goren turned his head to look at the older officer and slowly loosened his grip. Craven gently pulled the prisoner from Goren's shaking hands, ending the tense standoff. The guard suddenly turned Dryden around and slammed his face and body against the nearest wall. "If another fucking word comes out of your busted up mouth Dryden, it'll be the last one I promise you."

Maintaining pressure on Dryden's back, the experienced officer turned around to look at Goren. "Your visit's officially over detective. I think Dryden here might have spend a day in isolation for insubordination."

Goren nodded and took two steps back. He ran a hand through his hair and could feel the sweat on his forehead. His neck was aching and his head pounded as the adrenaline surged through his system. He still wanted to exterminate Dryden, but killing him wouldn't help him determine how real a threat he posed to Eames.

Craven spoke up again. "You can thank me later detective. I'm partial to Cubans." Goren knew it was his cue to get out of there quickly before the officer changed his mind or asked for a statement.

* * *

><p>After Goren left, the bearded corrections officer let go of Dryden and turned him around. "So that's the detective whose jacket you've been staining. He sure is a pretty one! You like 'em big do ya?"<p>

"Officer Craven please! I need to get online straight away. I don't mind going to isolation; I'll do anything. But I have to get online right now."

"Do you then Dryden? Well, you're just going to have to wait fifteen minutes, aren't you? Craven then went silent, placing his whole palm on the top of Dryden's head, pushing down until bleeding prisoner kneeled before him. Dryden opened his mouth wide in readiness. He squinted his eyes shut the officer pulled out a pair of pliers and gripped them on Dryden's upper canine tooth. Dryden screamed at the now familiar cracking sound of his daily dental work.


	15. Melissa

**A/N I uploaded a chapter yesterday too, so make sure you start on the right one.**

Goren signed out of Rikers and rushed to Lewis's white Sedan. He had 24 hours to play with before Dryden was out of isolation. How could he best use that time? His heart told him to go straight to Eames, drag her to a desert island, and hold her in the safety of his arms for eternity. But he knew not to underestimate Alex Eames. She could handle herself and any threat made to her. She had proven that ability more times than he cared to remember.

Dryden's threat sounded as though it had already been arranged. _You won't know where or when or how, but she's as good as dead._ It's possible he could have put out a contract on her; and then there was Fletcher to consider. However, a niggling instinct told him that the answer lay somewhere else. Deliberate or not, Dryden had left a clue. His words had sparked something in Goren's memory. He didn't know quite what, but the solution was almost there, just out of his mind's reach. First, he had to call Eames, forewarned was forearmed. Then he needed to drive to Brownlow College.

Goren picked up his cell. There was only one bar left on the battery. Shit! He had no charger in this car. He normally wasn't so negligent about his phone ,but last night he had been distracted - obviously.

He checked Eames' messages. There was one text, and one voice mail. He read the text frantically.

"Miss you already. Don't be late for your appointment! E." He smiled despite his anxious state, and accessed his voice-mail. He heard her sweet voice.

"Hi Bobby, it's me. I.. um just wanted to check on you. Everything's OK at work. Uh..call me back after your appointment." She sounded happy. She said that everything was OK.

He selected her number and got her voice-mail. _Damnit!_

"Eames, it's Goren. Look, I need you to watch your back today and don't go back to your apartment till I pick you up from work. I'll be there in a few hours to explain. Basically, Dryden made a death threat towards you, but it was very vague. I don't know. Don't worry quite yet, but call me back OK."

He then selected 'Nichols, Z' from his contacts list and pressed the button. Nichols picked up.

"Goren?"

Bobby got straight to the point, trying not to let panic creep into his voice." Nichols, I need your help. I've just been to see David Dryden and he threatened Eames. He said something along the lines that I wouldn't know when, where or how it would happen, but that she was as good as dead. She's OK right?"

"Yeah, she was just fine as of ten minutes ago. She's on a coffee run with Wheeler. How seriously are you taking this?"

"I don't know. It was non-specific. But where Dryden's concerned, I have to consider that he might act on it. He'll be in isolation at Rikers for the rest of the day, but he may have arranged a hit or something. Look, my phone's running low on battery. Can you fill her in and watch her back? I'll be there in about four hours."

"Sure I can. Goren. What's taking you so long anyway, you OK?"

"I just have a hunch. I've gotta check something out at Dryden's old workplace."

"Alright. Keep me posted and I'll do the same. And Goren, don't worry; I've got it. I won't let her out of my sight."

Goren felt a little relief after the call. It was probably overreacting, but that was preferable to under reacting. Eames was safe, though he still needed to hear her voice.

He contemplated the events at Rikers as he drove towards Brownlow College. He had lost it when Dryden had threatened Eames. He wasn't happy with himself for losing control and being violent like that. The same thing had happened with Declan when Eames was kidnapped. He just felt an overwhelming need to protect her in every way he could. This protective streak did not always manifest itself in the smartest of ways. He should have sweet-talked the information out of Dryden. Goddamn it! And what was Fletcher's connection to all this? It sounded as though she'd been provoking Dryden. He was a dangerous killer anyway; but with the sexual abuse he was suffering, even a slight provocation could have dire consequences. The guy needed a psychiatrist, but that could lead to an insanity defense. Goren needed Dryden to be locked up tight away from...his lover. Eames was now his lover. He let the word explore his brain as he indulged himself in a few flashbacks of the previous night. She way she trembled all over when he blew on her neck, the secrets she whispered in his ear, her cry of ecstasy in the dark...Some of this had been caught on camera.

His phone rang, and he grabbed it. "Eames?" He slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. He couldn't trust his driving when talking to her in this agitated state, and didn't have his hands free on him. Her voice came through wavering and muffled. The battery on his phone was almost dead..

"I'm fi..ne. What's …Dryden. You alright?" The signal crackled.

"I'm fine Eames, I'm going to Brownlow to investigate. Just stay at 1PP and don't go out until I get back. I'll call you from Brownlow. Don't worry, it's probably nothing."

"OK, o…. e…careful Goren." The phone cut out, but it was enough to ease his mind for now. He drove back on the road and put his foot on the gas, charging towards the Connecticut border. He wasn't sure quite why he was going there, but he sensed that he needed to. _ Pink and white flowers? I'll send the nicest pink and white flowers to her funeral. Why had Dryden said that? _

The benefit of an occupied mind was arriving at one's destination without realizing how much time had gone by. Goren got out of his vehicle and looked around. His eyes immediately located the bee boxes and fruit trees off in the distance. He was searching for something. Not seeing what he wanted, he made a beeline for the Department of Agriculture and Apiculture. He approached the counter and tapped the bell a couple of times.

"Detective Goren, what brings you here?" He was relieved to be greeted by Melissa once again. It would be a lot easier to achieve what he came here to do if he dealt exclusively with her. This time, he did not note how young and pretty she was, but he did notice her drink him in appreciatively with her eyes.

He smiled at her. "How are things Melissa? Have you sorted out the department yet?"

"No, it's still in chaos, but I'm doing my best," she twirled a couple of strands of her healthy black hair around her face. It was pulled back today.

"I'm sure you are." He lowered his voice and leaned down towards her over the admin counter top. "Could I talk to you somewhere in private? I need to ask a favor."

"Of course you can, anything for a police officer," she whispered conspiratorially. She opened the door to the front office, and led him to a small empty staff kitchen and lunchroom. Although he wasn't interested in her, there was no escaping her floral perfume and very short pale pink skirt, which she had matched with a cream silk blouse. There were four chairs and a table, but they both remained standing.

"Would you like tea or coffee?" she offered him, batting her long dark eyelashes.

He cleared his throat. "A glass of water and a coffee would be great. No sugar, no cream."

"Figures," she said.

He didn't ask why it figured as he gulped down the water. She poured him a cup of coffee from the pot. He took a sip. "Melissa, I really need your help." He explained to her that Dryden had set up a camera in his bedroom two weeks prior, and had been watching him unawares for all that time.

"I don't think I really need to tell you the kind of things that can be filmed in a bedroom." He looked over at her for a reaction.

"Oh, he's a little deviant. I'm so glad he's safely locked up. How can I help?"

"I'd like to delete the files from the server if possible. I'd hate for anyone to see them. I mean, can you imagine the embarrassment you'd feel if it were you?" He was manipulating her, but it was for a good cause.

She visibly shuddered at the thought. "I wish I could help you, but I can't. I don't have full access. She looked genuinely regretful.

"I have the passwords from Dryden, if that helps."

"Well we can try, but I'll need to ask Trevor in IT. He can be trusted." Goren sculled the coffee, and placed the cup in the sink.

"Let's go." He followed her down the hall.

Melissa used her short skirt and batting eyelashes to good use. Trevor was a geeky IT sap who was clearly putty in her hands, but still quite stubbornly ethical when it came to making changes to the back-up server. To convince him, Goren made Melissa avert her eyes to show Trevor that he was deleting only personal footage, and nothing college related. He explained that Dryden's work files had already been inspected by Major Case and returned to the department. After watching a clip of Goren's naked back and butt walking across the bedroom, he was 99% convinced.

"Please Trevor," whined Melissa. "What would you do if it Dryden was watching me like that? Wouldn't you delete it for me?" Goren was once again impressed with Melissa. He would not underestimate this girl.

Trevor looked at her, his attraction clear. "OK, OK. I'm not doing it myself, but I'll let you do it Detective," he yielded. Trevor now averted his eyes as Goren entered the passwords, and promised to take full responsibility if this were ever to get out.

"So I just hit delete, and they're really gone?" Goren asked.

"Obliterated," replied Trevor. "No way to retrieve them from this end. If someone's downloaded it, then that's another story. D'you need a copy before you delete?"

Goren considered this. It would be easier to trace other copies of the file online if he had a backup, but he was confident that Dryden had been telling the truth about not having shown anyone. With all his memories of his night with Eames scored in his brain, he hit delete. It was gone, and he hoped to God that that was the end of it. Goren gave Trevor his card and told him not to hesitate if he were ever in a jam. Then Melissa walked Goren back to the admin office.

"That was good work there Melissa. You're a smart one. You'll be running this place before too long." He meant it.

"I already do run this place," she laughed. "I guess we're both good at flirting to get what we want, aren't we?" She touched him lightly on the arm.

He stopped walking for a moment to look down at her. "Touche!" he flirted back.

She reached out and straightened his tie-clip with her long, pale pink fingernails. "So when are you going to give _me_ your card. I might like to call you too, if I'm ever in a jam that is." She smiled up at him revealing young white teeth and intriguing dancing almond eyes.

"You know I'm more than twice your age Melissa? You should be dating college boys."

"Oh I can't believe you're that old, and college boys don't dress half so well," she smiled.

He shook his head modestly and scratched the back of his neck. He then reached into his wallet and gave her his card. She squeezed his fingers as he did so, and put the card down the front of her silk blouse, sliding it in her bra. He couldn't help but linger his gaze for a moment. He was only a man after all.

He snapped out of it. He would fob her off later if she ever happened to call. She probably just liked the idea that she could get the number of any man she asked. Maybe she had a daddy complex or a thing for cops. Whatever her deal, she seemed to be able to handle men just fine. He deliberately kept his eyes on her face, and changed the subject. He had maintained an air of interest in her because there was something else he wished to know.

"Melissa, do you know by any chance if Dryden worked with pink and white flowers?"

"Oh yeah. I told you the department's in chaos, right? It's because of the poisonous flowers. All the hives are dying. It was supposed to be a controlled experiment, but no one's been appointed to take over yet so…"

"Could you show me where these poisoned hives are?" She nodded and tugged him on the sleeve to lead him outside.

As Melissa trudged her pink stilettos over the grass, Goren put his arm in hers to steady her. She didn't seem to mind one bit and pulled closer to him. They walked quite a long way through the fruit trees and boxed beehives while she chattered about Dryden and the strange things he used to do. Eventually, they reached a clearing covered with an array of pink, white, and purple flowers. There were several 'Danger: Keep Out' signs staked into the ground.

"Azaleas, Oleanders, Rhododendrons," identified Goren. "These are poisonous to bees if they're fed exclusively on them. I remember reading about it in Dryden's research. They can't perform their jobs properly apparently."

"Yeah, it sounds like something he'd do, deliberately poison poor creatures who make him his living."

Goren picked up a nearby stick on the ground and poked at one of the hives. All the bees were dead, though a few moved around feebly in their death throes. None appeared to be able to fly. "This will have to be cleaned up, if someone decides to collect that honey…"

"I know. Someone's already pointed that out. There's a cleanup scheduled for later this week."

Goren scratched his forehead hard and was dismayed to find a squashed bee on his fingertips. Suddenly, an almost unbearable localized pain rapidly spread across his forehead as he carefully extracted the stinger. He felt his heart-rate increase as the skin on his forehead and his throat started to tighten.

"I've been stung," he spluttered out.

"Oh!" she tried to reach up to his forehead to look. "You have, but it only hurts for a couple of minutes. Did you take out the stinger fully?"

"Yeah, but I may have a slight sensitivity to the venom. I ended up in the hospital when Dryden poisoned me. I'm gonna need some antihistamines I think."

"You were the cop who was poisoned here? Why didn't you tell me that?"

Goren felt a wave of giddiness through his head, which prompted him to lean on the trunk of the nearest a tree. He then slid down the trunk, sitting on the ground. He could feel his pulse continuing to quicken.

His near-collapse startled her into action. "Oh sugar! I didn't bring my phone. You got yours?"

He shook his head and watched her fling off her pink stilettos one at a time.

"Stay there detective Goren. I'll get the first aid officer, and don't get stung again – you hear me?"

He nodded and got a whiff of her sweet perfume as he watched her short skirt and shapely stockinged legs break into a run. It was not the final image he would have chosen if he were to die, but not a bad one as far as images go. The pain and poison started slowly spreading through his system.

He thought of Eames and cursed his cell phone's dead battery. Poison honey – that was what Dryden had meant about the pink and white flowers. He must have put poison honey in Eames' apartment on the morning of the funeral. He must have realized she liked it and would consume it sooner or later. Thank God she hadn't eaten any yet! With her sweet tooth, that was no small miracle. He had spoken to her just a couple of hours ago, and she was fine. Right now, she was fine.

He lay down on the ground and looked up at the overcast sky. His breathing was labored and his head was on fire, but he didn't fear for his life like the last time. His heart was holding out. Fortunately, his lungs were still sucking in air when the first aid officer, accompanied by Melissa, arrived in a jeep. After an injection of anti-histamine and a quick check over, he recovered somewhat. He was driven to the first aid clinic where he was urged to rest for half an hour on a ridiculously small cot. Melissa applied a cool gel pack to his swelling forehead, reassuring him that he was going to be alright. He knew there was something he needed to do, but he just kept lying there promising himself that he would close his eyes just for a minute.

Forty-five minutes later, he was given the all-clear and driven back to admin with a pack of oral anti-allergy medication. He was still in a daze. He knew that he wanted to drive somewhere and call someone, but his head wouldn't get into gear. Melissa sat him down in the staff kitchen, making him a cup of tea and serving it with a few cookies. He was still a little shaky and not thinking clearly enough to drive. Maybe the cookies would help.

He looked over at the little spitfire as he chewed with an awed kind of gratitude. "You really do run this place, don't you Melissa? I'm going to write a glowing letter to the board, explaining how you saved my life."

"Oh c'mon! Don't do that detective! They'll probably just reprimand me for taking you over there in the first place. I tell you what, if you kiss me goodbye when you leave, that'll be reward enough," she winked at him adding, "although it might have to be on the cheek. You're not looking quite as handsome as you did when you walked in here this morning."

He was surprised to find himself responding to her remark. He looked down at his now shabby and grass-stained gray suit.

"No, not that." She whipped out a hand mirror. This girl seemed to pink Pocahontas, Superman, and Inspector Gadget rolled into one.

Goren looked in the mirror to find that his forehead had swollen considerably. The bulbous upper part of his head made him look some sort of alien creature.

Melissa interjected with a bit of cheek, "That's one way to get rid of the worry lines, you look like you've had Botox." She flashed her winning smile again and he handed her back the mirror.

He suddenly remembered what he had been meaning to do. "Melissa?"

"Uh, oh!" she said seriously, anticipating another drama.

"Could you see if you can charge my cell. I also need to borrow a laptop and a cellphone."

She took his cell phone and her high-heels clicked confidently away to do his bidding. They could really use this girl at Major Case. She'd keep Ross in line for sure. He tried to wipe the spider webs from his brain and think about his next course of action.

Melissa came back five minutes later with the requested equipment and some hand-written telephone messages. They were all from Major Case. Everything was fine, but they wanted him to call back ASAP. He opened the laptop and started searching with one hand, while calling Eames with the other.

"Goren, are you OK?"

"Eames! How are you feeling? " He exhaled at the sound of her voice.

"Oh Goren, thank God you called. I can't get through to your phone. Nothing's happened at this end, but what about you? You visited Dryden, why? He ignored her questions.

Eames, listen to me. I need you to tell me how you are feeling physically. By that I mean health-wise. It's important."

"Actually, now that you mention it, I don't feel a hundred per cent. But I skipped dinner and didn't get that much sleep."

He ignored the implication. "Have you recently eaten any honey or drunk anything at your apartment?" She didn't seem off put by his strange line of questioning. She was used his telegraphic interrogations.

"Well yeah, I put some honey in my coffee this morning. I ran out of sugar."

"What time was that? Where did you get the honey?" His voice filled with urgency as he looked at the kitchen room clock. It was just past 2.30pm.

"It was in the kitchen at around 7am. Why?"

"Had you eaten it before and if so, when and how often?" He needed the minimum level of communication to garner the maximum amount of information.

"I only opened it this morning. Actually, I don't remember buying it. I thought maybe my sister…"

He cut her off. "Listen Eames, Dryden's been in my apartment and maybe yours too."

"What, he's escaped?

"No, this was the morning of the funeral two weeks ago. I know you know that Dryden threatened you, so I need you to get to a hospital immediately. Tell them you may have ingested poison honey."

"What? What kind of poison?"

"It's honey extracted from bees that have fed on toxic flowers: azaleas, rhododendrons, oleanders. You tell them the exact names of those flowers at the hospital.

"But I ate it hours ago. I mean I sort of feel a bit strange in the stomach, but I'm OK really." She sounded as though she wasn't taking him seriously. He had to make her understand.

"According to what I'm reading Eames, it can take six to ten hours to take effect. The symptoms include nausea, drooling, vomiting, slow pulse, low blood pressure, diarrhea, seizures, coma, and…and.. " He stopped, refusing to read the word 'death' aloud from the screen in front of him.

"Alright Goren, you've convinced me. I'll get checked out. Where are you anyway, are you OK?"

"I'm fine, still at Brownlow. Long story. Just get Nichols to take you to a hospital now!"

"OK, OK Goren. I'll call you when I know which hospital. What's happened to your cell phone?"

"I'm charging it now. Call me from the hospital. And Eames...Alex, promise me you'll be OK. I love you."

She hesitated only for a moment. He had no idea it was because Nichols, Wheeler and Captain Ross were standing right next to her. "I love you too. I'll be OK, I promise."

The call cut off.

He loved her, and she loved him. It felt so good to be loved back. He couldn't lose her now, and he _wouldn't _lose her now because she promised.

After the conversation, Goren emerged completely from his hazy stupor. He sprang up and gave Melissa the promised peck on the cheek. He retrieved his now quarter-charged cell, and thanked her briefly for all her help. She offered to drive him to New York City, but he declined and jumped into the sedan alone. As he pulled out on to the road, he caught a glimpse of her waving in the rear view mirror. He tooted the horn, and then glanced at himself in the same mirror; he then jumped half an inch out of his seat. Frankenstein's monster was staring back at him. His head was really starting to swell and his eyes seemed narrow and beady. He located the packet of allergy medication and shoved a couple of capsules in his mouth, putting pedal to the metal as he did so.


	16. It's a Girl Thing

Bobby drove slightly beyond the speed limit, wishing he had a portable siren. The rural landscape whizzed by and he entered more built up areas. He proceeded carefully with the understanding that any risk taken might mean he wouldn't arrive at his destination – Eames. He kept glancing anxiously at the seat beside him where his phone was resting. He still didn't know which hospital she had checked into. He tried to avoid looking at himself in the mirror, where his head was swelling at an alarming rate. Physically, he felt OK – not great- but OK. He was certain the adrenaline and his increased heart rate were due to his concern for Eames, and not the bee-sting he'd received. The extra dose of anti-histamines had done their job; he was sure of it. He was refusing to entertain the notion that the bee in question would have had a poison-filled sac around its stinger. Such a minute dose on a large frame like his would have had little effect anyway, he reasoned.

However, there was no telling how much 'mad honey' Eames had consumed. He'd read that deaths from this cause had been almost non-existent over the past twenty years, but this was not naturally produced honey. There was no way of knowing how concentrated Dryden had made it. Fucking Dryden!

His cell sounded with a message. He knew it had to be Eames. It was the third time that day they she had contacted him when he was thinking about her. He already knew she could read his mind when they were in the same room, including the bedroom, but was surprised that she could do it across such great distances too.

He reached over and picked up the phone, keeping his eyes on the road. He knew that he should stop to read it; he was trying to be safe after all. But in the end he couldn't resist. He looked in the rear mirror and slowed down a little as his eyes roamed the screen.

'Feel fine. Just arrived at East Chisolm Memorial for tests. You OK? XXX - E.'

She was OK; he smiled at her message. For some reason, he noticed that she had written 'You' and not 'U'. She always sent him properly written text messages, and he didn't know quite why since it wasn't her usual style. He would have to ask her sometime. He also noticed the XXX – triple X. He knew it was supposed to represent kisses and that was bad enough but…He tried to keep his eyes on the road and his mind out of the gutter. She'd said he could stay at her place tonight. The thought that she wanted him again, and in her bedroom no less, thrilled him to the core. Maybe he was wrong and she hadn't been poisoned after all. Maybe tonight was still on.

He knew he was being too idealistic. His train of thought veered off the X-rated and back into the present. He wondered why she had been taken to that particular hospital. It seemed out of the way, but he'd been there once when working a case years before and knew he'd find it without difficulty. With his cell in his left hand, he started to tap in a reply when the phone beeped with yet another message. It wasn't from a number in his contacts list. He knew after the reading the first few words who it was from.

"I watched you fuck her you naïve bastard! She didn't say she loved you back. Estella's toying with your affections, but you'll find out her true colors soon enough – I know you're a top-notch detective. I have already arranged a fitting punishment for her. Unlike the gigolo, you get one more chance. But only because I know what it feels like to be rejected. I'll be waiting for you when this is done."

Goren flung the phone across the car in a fury, hitting the inside of the passenger door. It fell apart in two pieces, its guts falling to the floor. So Dryden had now seen the video files of him and Eames. _Goddamnit no!_ Goren briefly fantasized that he had indeed crushed Dryden's skull against the wall that morning. The shithead was supposed to be in solitary confinement. How did he get to a screen so quickly? How had he sent that message? Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. Dryden was getting assistance from somewhere. Goren felt his heart beating more loudly in his chest, and opened the window just slightly. He took a deep breath and focused on his steering. Although Dryden appeared to hold all the cards, Goren was determined that he would fix this once and for all.

He had called Eames 'Estella', a clear reference to the vixen in _Great Expectations_. Just what had he meant about her 'true colors'? What punishment had he arranged for her? Was it just the honey? He knew that Dryden was withholding this information to procure another visit, and it infuriated him. He tried to take a few more deep breaths as the world started to go vertical around him upon his approach to Manhattan. He needed his head clear and his senses sharpened if he were going to come out on top. There was no other option.

Goren finally pulled into the hospital, mercifully spotting a parking space relatively near the front. He sprinted inside to the reception area and waiting room, possibly breaking his own personal record. He didn't register the throbbing in his knee. He scanned his surroundings frantically and the first thing he spotted was Danny Ross's hair, sticking up like true north. Goren also vaguely noticed Nichols beside him. The tall detective gave him the up and down before walking away without so much as a greeting. Goren thought nothing of it. It was authority he sought.

"Captain?" he asked. Ross looked at him in bewilderment.

"She's fine. She did ingest poison honey, but it was slow acting and they're pumping her system, among other treatments." Goren had never been more grateful for his captain's abruptness.

John Eames, whose presence Goren had somehow not registered until now, piped up. "It was caught in time thanks to you. The doctor seemed confident that Alex will be fine Bobby." John patted him on the shoulder gently and the touch made Goren suddenly realizehow much he was sweating.

"She'll be fine?" He looked into John Eames' eyes imploringly.

"Yes, she'll be fine," reassured John. Goren believed his words. He felt relief sweep through him, and briefly thought he might like to sit down and sleep for a hundred years or so. With mind reading almost as proficient as his daughter's, John Eames put his hand on Goren's forearm, and guided him to a nearby row of chairs.

"C'mon, you need to sit down son."

His soothing voice and gentle physical insistence lulled Goren into obedience, though his instinct was to kick in every door in the hospital until he found her room. He briefly noticed positive emotions flow through him at being called 'son' by this man.

He closed his eyes to block out the claustrophobic white walls and fluorescent lighting. When he opened them again a couple of seconds later, he was greeted with the sight of a still-freckled Megan Wheeler handing him a paper cup filled with water. "Here you go, you feeling OK?" she asked kindly, but she looked at him strangely. He couldn't quite comprehend her expression.

He gratefully downed the liquid life before nodding at her in thanks. Before he could speak, Zack Nichols approached with a tall graying female doctor in a white coat. She looked irritated and no-nonsense all at once. Goren stood up, almost stumbling. Before the doctor could even introduce herself, he found himself interrupting.

"Is Alexandra Eames, my partner…?"

She cut him off. "Are you family?"

"Yes he is," rang out a voice behind him. John Eames stood up next to Goren, not nearly matching his height. But Goren felt the solidarity of this man's presence.

"What happened to your head?" asked the doctor, lifting her hand towards Goren's forehead. She touched his skin far before he expected her to make contact. He'd forgotten about his swollen forehead. He could actually see it up there in his peripheral vision. That must be why the others were looking at him so strangely and why Zack had rushed off to get the doctor.

"I'm fine- bee-sting. I've already been treated. Now about Eames?"

The doctor nodded at him. She appeared satisfied with his explanation and seemed to have sensed his overwrought state. "I'll check you over in a moment. Now then…"

The doctor explained that Eames had developed a rare case of 'Mad Honey Disease'. It was so rare in fact, that had the particular flowers not been identified in the initial emergency call, the staff would have been at a loss to diagnose and treat it. Eames had been admitted to this particular hospital due to its proximity to a lab that carried an antidote. The serum was express couriered over and arrived at the hospital not long after Eames had. The administration of the antidote seemed to have been effective in reversing the effects of the poison thus far. It was also explained that Eames had just had a tube inserted to wash out her stomach. She was currently getting an EKG, and was on an IV. Her vital signs were being monitored and the doctor was pleased that she had not needed breathing support. She predicted that the patient would be ready to receive visitors within an hour or two.

"Where did this honey come from?" the doctor addressed the group. She was concerned at further potential poisonings and needed more details in case she needed to issue an alert to other hospitals.

"From Brownlow College upstate. Someone deliberately manufactured it," replied Goren.

"Well, I'm going to need some more details, so come with me and I'll examine that sting while we're at it," she addressed Goren. Ross accompanied them out of the waiting room. He understood that Eames' poisoning would definitely be assigned to Major Case.

Half an hour later, Goren returned to the waiting room by himself, holding a cool gel-pack to his forehead. After assuring John, Wheeler and Nichols that he was fine and that the swelling would dissipate within a week, he took off his suit coat. He noted the grass stains on the back of it as he folded it over the chair. He had already yanked off his expensive tie in the car and had undone a few buttons on his shirt. He sat back down and waited. He was pretty much spent.

Nichols soon got everyone some coffee and peanuts from a nearby vending machine, and Wheeler passed around a few bananas she had rustled up from somewhere. He started to drink the much-needed beverage, grateful that the others seemed to understand his necessity for silence. As the banana hit his stomach, it growled like a panther. Except for a few pieces of toast and two cookies, he hadn't had a proper meal since lunchtime the previous day. It seemed like several lifetimes ago. The previous 24 hours had been among the best and worst of his life. He had to decide how to proceed from here.

Ross had already left for 1PP as the shit had hit the fan on many fronts. Goren was seriously considering coming clean with his boss, but he didn't know just how much to reveal, and how much to conceal. He had recounted the events of the day to his boss in dribs and drabs, leaving out what were really the most important parts. One thing was clear to Goren; he was sooner or later going to need some assistance.

In his mind, Bobby went over the details of conversation he had with Ross just ten minutes prior.

"_I can't believe the both of you survived a poisoning. You are two tough cops. She was lucky you visited Dryden and figured it out.'_

"_Yeah well, we look out for each other."_

"_Well, I look out for my people too Goren. If there's anything you need to tell me, I trust that you'll come to me with it. I know you're still disinclined to do that, but the more information I have, the safer you two will be."_

Ross's clear blue eyes looked at him then. He looked sincere in his request and Goren appreciated that his boss was putting himself out on a limb. A couple of cases and a few other circumstances had lately forged a new, but tentative, understanding between the two of them. Goren felt almost able to trust his captain now, though it had taken a long time to get there. He'd answered his boss in a way that surprised him.

"_OK Captain. I understand what you're saying. I need to discuss it with my partner first. I'll get back to you." _

"_Alright detective. Go see her."_

And Goren had left the room. Ross had promised to post a guard on her hospital room door overnight. Although Dryden had likely already carried out his threat, it couldn't hurt.

His reflections were put to a stop by the the female doctor, whom he now knew to be Doctor Ryan, approaching them. Again he stood up, cooling coffee in one hand and ice gel pack in the other.

"Alexandra Eames is ready to receive visitors, though I'm afraid I'll have to insist on one at a time for a maximum of fifteen minutes each. Her body's been through a lot, and I don't want her over stimulated."

Goren had always been a considerate man who put the needs of others above his own- until now. He looked at the frail John Eames, and shamelessly pleaded with eyes.

"It's alright Bobby, you go first. I've got to go to the bathroom and call Liz anyway – that'll probably take me a while."

"Thank you John." Goren dumped the coffee and ice pack on the waiting room chair. He shook the old man's hand with his two hands, as though he had given him the moon. In a flash, he was at the door of her hospital room. He gritted his teeth as he remembered the last time he had been in this situation after her kidnapping. Things were different now. If it were possible, he loved her even more than he had then. His emotions were heightened, but he bit his bottom lip hard to keep them under control. He was determined to be as solid as a rock for her.

He entered the room and tentatively walked in, afraid of what he would find. The heart monitor's beeps quickened just slightly as she looked towards the door and registered his presence.

"Bobby!" she croaked.

"Eames!" All his promises to himself to be composed went out the window. He almost leaped across the room to reach her bed. When he got there, he caressed both her cheeks with his whole hands, first kissing her on the forehead, and then pressing his lips against hers, close mouthed. He was relieved to feel the heat of her face and lips. He looked into eyes deeply; the eyes he had made love to last night.

"You're OK then?" he asked, his face above hers and far too close.

"Yes I'm OK. I promised you I would be. Are _you _alright? What's wrong with your head?" She reached up with her IV attached right hand to touch his forehead.

"He pulled back a little. Bee-sting, it's nothing – a slight reaction. Saw the doctor. Can I get you something? Water? Ice?" He noticed her voice was hoarse. He knew how she must be feeling as he'd also had a tube inserted down his throat after his poisoning two weeks ago.

"Well," she said mysteriously, "Some orange juice would hit the spot."

He darted his eyes round the room looking for some before her meaning became apparent. He slowly turned his head to gaze at her, unable to mask the sexual longing in his eyes. She looked at him, equaling his yearning as they both experienced a mental flashback. He was hearing her squeals of delight as he had poured the cold juice over her naked breasts, and she was recalling how her skin quickly heated it up as he had lapped it up with his long, rough muscular tongue. The fluctuation in the rate of her heart monitor caused him to interrupt the moment; he stood upright.

"Eaaames. I can only see you for fifteen minutes. I've got to focus here and you're not making it easy " He wagged his finger at her.

Before she could make her expected crack about what he could achieve in fifteen minutes, he filled a glass with water from the jug on her bedside stand and opened the paper wrapper of a straw. He then used his strong sweaty arms to prop her up comfortably on the pillows, fiddling with her hair to disentangle it from the tie on the back of her blue hospital gown. He was surprised that she accepted his fussing and arranging without protest. He was permitted to touch her now, and that was something he could easily get used to. He pulled the visitor's chair beside her bed and reached for the glass, pushing the straw to her lips gently. She drained half the water before releasing the straw. He then put the straw to his lips, and sucked down the rest.

"Hey!" she joked. "That's mine!" Her smile dropped away too quickly and the levity left her voice. "Why did you visit Dryden this morning?"

He put down the glass and took her unattached left hand in both of his. Complete honesty had worked for him so far in this new phase of their relationship; it was how he had finally won her heart. But all the same, he decided not to tell her about the camera until at least the morning. The doctor said that she shouldn't get worked up.

He began slowly and carefully. "Just after you left this morning, I found a book – Great Expectations- on my bookshelf in the bedroom. Now I think back, I'd sort of noticed something there for a couple of weeks. It wasn't until this morning that I finally picked it up. I knew it wasn't mine. I had a feeling that Dryden had put it there, or got someone to put it there."

Eames nodded. She understood Goren's hunches.

"So I borrowed a car from Lewis and drove to Rikers Island this morning. You were right Eames. Dryden is dangerous, and he is obsessed with me – sexually."

"I told you he was. What happened?"

"He propositioned me and then taunted me when I turned him down, saying he was going to hurt you. Well…my temper got the better of me, and I punched him in the face."

"Oh Bobby, why did you do that?" She looked disappointed in him and he understood why. He was already skating on thin ice at Major Case. Something like that could get him fired.

He squeezed her hand, rubbing the cuticle of her thumb. He once again was surprised that she let him touch her in such an affectionate way. "I guess Dryden knows that you're my Achilles' heel." He could perceive her dismay at his comment. "Don't worry though. The guard covered for me. Nothing was written up."

"Don't worry?" she squeezed his hand back a little too hard. Her voice was deadly serious. "Can't you see Bobby that this is just like the situation with, with _that _woman?" Bobby new she meant Nicole Wallace. "You're giving him too much power Bobby. I want you make a promise to me now."

He kissed her palm twice before looking across at her solemn eyes.

"I want you to promise me you won't visit David Dryden again. Can you do that for me?"

He considered her request. He was already contemplating visiting him again in the morning, but he knew she was right. He had to defer to her judgment on this. It was getting out of hand. He _was _being manipulated by Dryden. He nodded reluctantly. "OK Eames, I promise."

She could see that he meant it and exhaled a sigh of relief. "Send Nichols or Jeffries if you have to. Just stay away."

"Alright, I will." He paused.

She picked up on his missed beat "What are you thinking?"

He didn't want to bring it up, but it came out anyway. "It's just..well, did you tell anyone about your… about Gatehouse, that you were seeing him I mean?" He looked down at the white sheet of her bed, but maintained his double grip on her hand.

"No, why do you ask?" She sounded concerned.

He glanced back up to her face. "So it's just me you've told, are you sure Eames?"

"I'm sure Bobby. I didn't even want to tell you, though now I see it was for the best." She smiled briefly, but her brow soon furrowed and she focused on him again.

He pressed on. "You didn't tell Emaline Moses or you friend Shelley, the one who gave you Gatehouse's card? Did you see anyone you knew at the funeral?"

"No, Bobby. I swear I never told anyone. What's this about?" she asked. Her tones, so recently soothed by the water, were again becoming shaky and cracked.

He sighed. "It's probably nothing Eames. It's just that Dryden sent me a text message. He said that I would soon find out your true colors. I'm trying to figure out what he meant. Do you think Gatehouse confided in his friend Pentoff? Or maybe..."

He could see that Eames was exasperated at the content of his rapid questioning. She cut him off. "I was very careful about my identity Bobby. I didn't give Gatehouse my real surname or my profession. The last thing I would have wanted him to know was my history in Vice. I busted guys like him, and women like me."

_Women like me._ He didn't like that she was thinking of herself in such terms. He interjected, "Eames, your situation was totally different. It wasn't…,"

"My true colors?" She interrupted

"Eames, you know that I have…"

She broke him off once again. "I don't want to talk about this right now Bobby, I'm too exhausted." She turned away from him and looked out the window, releasing her hand from his. The light was fading.

He could take a hint. "Alright Eames. It was just a thought. I'm sure he doesn't know or he would have blackmailed me with specifics. Look, I.. I don't want to upset you. The doctor ordered me not to. I should get going now anyway. Your dad's waiting to see you." He didn't want to agitate her any further.

Her head spun back round to face him so quickly that it startled him. "I don't want you to go Bobby. I just want to change the topic." She reached for his hands, and it gladdened his heart as he clasped onto hers. Damn things really _had_ changed between them. It wasn't just that he'd had sex for the first time in years; there was something more happening here. He still couldn't wrap his head around what it all meant or how exactly how to process it. Feelings of love such as he had never experienced were rising and pushing up from the seat of his soul and he couldn't have stopped them even if he wanted to. He turned over her hand and kissed her palm again as she gripped around his stubbled cheeks and chin. He moaned deep in his throat. What in the hell was happening to him? How could this come to him after a lifetime without it?

He forced himself to release her hand an look up, trying to get a grip on his overflowing emotions. "OK, you choose the topic then," he encouraged her with his uneven voice.

"OK, what else did Dryden say? You not only visited him, but he's still sending you messages?"

He was surprised at her choice of topic, not that he had expected her to want to discuss elves and bunnies, but she really was unpredictable.

"OK..he.." _How much to tell?_ He thought to himself. "He said that he had arranged a punishment for you. I guess this was it." He felt sad that he couldn't tell her the whole truth and even sadder that she was lying in a hospital bed through not fault of her own.

"Well he didn't get me did he Bobby? And he didn't get us." There was her feisty spirit that he loved.

"No, he should have known better that to mess with you Eames."

She nodded without a smile. It was simply true. "You know I just realized that he must have emptied out most of my sugar to increase the chances of my ingesting the honey. I'm just glad you figured out what was in it before…." She couldn't finish verbalizing her thought. "Do you think he's got anything else in store?"

Bobby wanted say 'no', but he nodded instead, closing his eyes as he did so. "Dryden's not doing well Eames, and I don't mean just mentally. He's being abused in there, physically and sexually." Although Bobby had contemplated murdering this man just a few hours ago, he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable about the situation in Rikers.

"Bobby, the staff is trained to pick up on that. It's not your responsibility. Make a phone call if you have to but…"

Bobby spoke over the top of her. " I think ADA Fletcher's been riling him."

"How? He noticed that Eames didn't seem especially surprised. "Call it feminine intuition Bobby, but I do not trust that woman," she added.

"I don't know exactly. She's been his only visitor, and she's been there too often. I think there's more to it than just legal work. I don't know if Dryden's pulling her strings or if it's the other way round. For one thing, she told him that we're involved, and that she saw us together."

"OK, but that doesn't seem very specific. She might have been lying Bobby. There have always been rumors circulating about us."

"But Dryden's details sounded a little familiar. He said Fletcher told him she saw me kissing you with uh…," he hesitated.

"Uh.. what?"

"With your hands down my pants." He had paraphrased Dryden's words to be a bit more delicate.

"What?" she spluttered.

"You don't remember? It was last night, after we had cocktails."

"Yes I remember, and they weren't _down_ you pants. I grabbed your butt!," she corrected. "You think Fletcher was in the bar and followed us?"

He looked at her and skewed his head to one side. "I suppose that's a possibility," he acknowledged, "but I'm not so sure. She was at Rikers visiting Dryden last night at 8pm. I saw her name on the visitors' register."

"Strange that she'd be allowed to visit him that late." commented Eames. "Anyhow, if I remember rightly, and I certainly do, I had you pinned against that wall with my hands on your pants around 6pm," she said with a wink.

Despite the gravity of the conversation, he smiled absently at the memory, feeling his face heat up. Her sudden outdoor groping had been a pleasant shock for him, and had been the catalyst for even more pleasurable varieties of touching throughout the night that followed. He shook his brain from the inside to maintain its dominance. "OK, so she let's say she saw us, then visited Dryden and told him. Why was her motive?" Bobby was worried as he realized the extent of Fletcher's involvement.

"Well that's what I intend to find out as soon as I get out of here," she declared.

"No Eames, just let me handle this. You know she has a soft spot for me, at least I think she does." She shook her head with flat refusal. He knew that look

"Goren, do you remember Eloise Kittridge; the woman who was stabbed in the thigh in a restaurant restroom?"

He thought back to the case from quite early in their partnership. There had been blood everywhere from the fatal wound to the victim's femoral artery. "I remember – cryogenics' daughter," he responded cryptically. He was confused as to the connection to their current discussion. Where was she going with this?

"Well you remember her purse was missing? You thought that she'd rested it on the floor next to the toilet, and I argued that you were wrong and that she'd definitely hung it on the hook of the stall door. You remember what you said then?"

He let go of her hand and rubbed his lips, recalling the day. He finally responded, "I said that it must be a girl thing." His inflection didn't rise. It was a declarative statement. Of course he remembered their conversation of years ago. He remembered every one.

"Right! That's why I'm going to talk to Fletcher by myself Bobby. It's a girl thing."

He looked at her puzzled, but capitulated to her will again with a nod. He could see that he was going to give in to her a little too often if he didn't watch it. He stood up from his chair and brought his left hand to her cheek, stroking it delicately with his thumb. He leaned over impulsively and kissed her again, first on the nose, then on the mouth. The kisses were chaste until she pulled her hand down and grasped the curls on the back of his head, pulling him closer. She kissed first his bottom lip, and then top lip slowly and softly. It reminded him of the first time she had kissed him on that rainy night two weeks ago. It was the moment his world had changed.

"You taste like banana," she whispered closely. He gave her another taste and felt his tired body stir in response.

He was startled by the sound of a clearing throat behind him. He turned around and rubbed the back of his head where she had just been clutching, smoothing his hair down. When he saw who was there, he had the good sense to look guilty. "Mr. Eames!"

"Sorry to interrupt you two kids, but your fifteen minutes was up ten minutes ago. I want to see my little girl."

"Dad! It's good to see you." Eames rescued Bobby from the awkward explanation he was about to spit out. "Could you give us just a minute Dad?" John nodded and stepped outside again, with a lopsided grin on his face.

Goren turned around mortified. "I'm sorry Eames..I.."

"Oh it's fine. He's been harping on at me to 'secure' you for years."

"Secure me?"

She chuckled just a little. "Look, we'll talk about this tomorrow. And we're also going to talk about the fact that I don't want to be your Achilles' heel. Tomorrow might also be the day that I tell you that Ross overheard me telling you 'I love you too' on the phone this afternoon. Of course, I'll wait to tomorrow because we both need some rest."

"He what? Oh God!" He started pacing and rubbing his neck.

Eames looked at him with a smile on her lips. She had never seen him this embarrassed. She commanded, "Goren focus."

He nodded and looked at her with concealed amusement. Ross or her dad finding out about their fledgling relationship was the least of his worries. It dawned on him that he still had to tell her that their first night together had been filmed. That discussion would have to wait until tomorrow too.

His senior partner barked out her orders. "I want you to go to my apartment and check it for any other surprises Dryden may have left. Then I want you to order in something healthy and spend the night in my bed as planned, even though I can't be there with you." The last clause sounded regretful. "Bobby, I want you to take whatever medicine they gave you for your head and sleep well tonight. Then I want you to come pick me up as soon as I can convince them to let me out of here. You got all that?" Where's your binder?"

He smiled at that. Shit, he did need his binder. "OK Eames and thanks," He meant it. He didn't know whether it was being in love, sexual hormones, being poisoned or the stress of the day, but he wasn't himself. He had wanted to be her support, and here she was anchoring him instead. He bent down to kiss her goodbye at the very moment John Eames made his re-entrance.

"Not again!"

Bobby stood up and with a grin and silently mouthed an 'I love you' at her. She mouthed back 'me too.' He drew away from his lover and reluctantly turned around, stepping around John Eames. He glanced at the old man sheepishly and nodded goodbye. As Bobby walked out of the room, he could hear John's amused voice. He paused just outside the door to eavesdrop.

"Well, well, well young lady. Are you going to tell Bobby or am I?"

"Tell him what Dad?" Her tone was sarcastic. She was bracing herself for one of his zingers.

"That you've been cheating on him with the elephant man."

Bobby smiled and his chest started to shake with laughter as he walked away. He stopped at the men's room on his way out and looked in the mirror. He glanced around and, finding himself alone, he quoted the movie. "I am not an animal, I am…a human being."

He snorted once at his own ridiculousness. He did indeed look like the elephant man. How had Eames let him kiss her without cringing? _She really must love me_, he thought_._ Still, he was going to have to pick up a few ice-packs on his way back to her place.

As he approached her apartment at around 8pm, he was pissed not only to realize he had broken his cell-phone and lost another fucking suit coat, but also because there was a fucking CSU team rifling around inside.


	17. The Complete Works

**A/N Thanks to all those reading and/or reviewing. Can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Only about three chapters to go now. Hang in there!**

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><p>He didn't know why the presence of the Crime Scene Unit at her Forest Hills apartment had taken him by surprise. The poisoning and hospitalization of his partner had been work-related, and would have to be investigated. He just didn't realize Ross would be so quick to act; good for him. As he climbed the stairs up to Eames' open door, he was greeted by the sight of Detective Pedro Castillo. Goren and Eames had had the good fortune to interact with him at numerous crime scenes over the years, and he was a first-rate evidence collector. His mustached face looked up as Goren approached the front door, which was being dusted for prints.<p>

"Detective Goren. I was so sorry to hear about Eames. How's she doing?" Goren offered a handshake but, registering the presence of Castillo's latex gloves, withdrew it. Castillo reached into his pocket and handed Goren a pair of gloves.

"They gave her an antidote; she's on the mend. It's looking like she'll be released as early as tomorrow," Goren's voice lightened as he comprehended his own explanation. He pulled on the latex gloves with a snap.

Castillo's eyes lit up. "That's good to hear man. She's unrivaled that one. The team readily volunteered to do overtime tonight. They assign you the case?" Castillo's voice sounded surprised.

"No. I don't think anyone's got it yet. I just came to get her a change of clothes and maybe a few books," he lied. He had been planning to ransack the house for any further traps or cameras left by Dryden. He could see now how daft that would be. When it came Eames' security, the more help, the better.

Castillo nodded. "What's up with your head? You OK?"

Goren had forgotten just how strange he must look. "Bee sting. I'm fine."

Detective Castillo knew Goren probably wouldn't compromise the crime scene, but was still slightly reluctant to let him enter, but enter he did. The CSU detectives were busy working in all rooms. The honey jar had already been bagged, and other food and beverage items were being inspected; ditto all the lotions and liquids in the vicinity. Goren pinned on his badge as he surveyed the scene before making his way towards her small kitchen, leaving Castillo behind to finish the dusting.

Goren bent down, putting his temporarily misshapen head beside a young evidence detector, who was poking about in the freezer."You check the house for bugs yet?"

The young man looked to the left and jumped, his eyes meeting Goren's swollen face. "You mean bees?"

Goren scrunched his brow and shook his head. Freezer guy had probably heard about the Gatehouse crime scene; bees had been buzzing everywhere. "No, I mean recording devices."

"Naah I don't think we have. you should ask Castillo." He flicked his head towards the direction of the living room.

After giving the kitchen another once over, he sought out the living room. Goren observed another overzealous detective rifling through a box that contained Eames' personal correspondence and photographs. His instinct was to tell the guy to quit it, and kick them all out of her apartment. It bothered him that her personal possessions were being examined. Enough prying assholes had entered this apartment lately – far too many. He felt offended on her behalf, but was secretly comforted by the fact that they were leaving no stone unturned.

Goren sidled up to Castillo, who was now busy at the liquor cabinet. The contents of which were being placed on a nearby table. Goren reached for an open bottle of tequila and sniffed it. Castillo didn't flinch. He was used to the Major Case detective sniffing stuff, and had even started to emulate his technique. Castillo drew the line at corpses though. He knew that Goren absolutely shouldn't be at this crime scene because of the conflict of interest. After all, who was to say that he wasn't a suspect? But Castillo had been keeping an eye on his presence and sensed nothing untoward was happening. He seriously doubted that Goren would bother attempting to poison his partner with honey of all things.

Goren took a second whiff of the bottle, and described his impressions aloud. But this was no wine tasting. "There's definitely an undertone of something acrid. It's subtle, but there's a tang there that doesn't belong. It's not the mad honey or bee venom; apitoxin smells sweet and isn't completely soluble in alcohol." Goren had found that out after researching his own poisoning with the honey liqueur. He closed his eyes and inhaled again. Something poked at his olfactory receptors. "You'd better take all these bottles away and have them tested." He instructed Castillo. The latter nodded. Although Goren was not in charge, he had planned to get them to the lab anyway.

Castillo noted the look of abject fear on the tall detective's face at the prospect of even more toxins being present in his partner's apartment. He sought to reassure him. "We'll be thorough even if we have to stay all night combing this place. We'll make sure we uncover anything and everything."

Goren nodded in acknowledgement. He had planned to spend the night in Eames' apartment like she'd instructed, but he could see now it wouldn't be possible or wise; especially when he didn't know what kind of hazards were about. He suddenly remembered his purpose for coming into the living room.

"You got a frequency detector?" he asked Castillo.

"Yeah," he replied.

"I want this place checked for cameras," stated Goren.

"OK, I'll get that done." Castillo didn't question why as he barked out an order to one of his crew before turning back to Goren. "Listen, you'd probably better get going if you're not officially assigned. I don't want to get us into any shit or jeopardize the case. You can come back tomorrow."

Goren knew his assessment of the situation was accurate. "I get it. I'll be out of your hair in a minute. I'll just get her that change of clothes."

"Sure thing. Don't take any toiletries though; they could be compromised." Goren went pale at the thought as he entered her bedroom. He'd only had occasion to walk in there once or twice before, and did not have time to take it all in now. How badly he wanted to examine the room where she spent her nights, and where he could have spent this very night. Nevertheless, this was not the right moment.

He decided to put off wondering whether her bed was always made with white satin sheets or whether she had re-made it that morning in anticipation. He willed himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Under the watchful eye of Castillo, Goren selected a pair of black jeans, a black jacket, and the burgundy blouse with the ruffles that he had so liked. He opened a few drawers and pulled out some black socks and selected a matching burgundy bra and panties set that were lying to the left of the drawer. He couldn't help but observe that a lot of her underwear looked brand new. He was going to have to revisit that thought at a later, and much more appropriate, time.

Castillo passed Goren a large plastic evidence bag to stow the clothes in. He then subtly trying to herd him out of the room. As they were exiting, Goren noticed the layer cake of clothes in her hamper. In the middle he spied her coral colored top, followed by pale blue-green sheets. Resting on top like frosting was the silky lacy short white slip. It was the same slip he had readily glided off her body the previous night. He wondered how she had smuggled that garment into his apartment and out again without his even noticing. He put that on his growing mental list of things to ask her sometime. Thank God she was safe and sound!

A CSU detective stumbled past them to sweep for recording devices in the bedroom. Goren turned to watch and listen as the slow and steady beeping sound did not vary. The whole apartment had come up clean.

Goren was struck with a thought. "Can I borrow that Castillo? I can get it back to you tomorrow."

"Sure thing," he answered.

Goren took the scanner from the detective and placed it in the plastic evidence bag next to her clothes. He figured Castillo must be used to his odd requests by now, as he didn't ask why he wanted it. Although he'd love to take the scanner over to Rikers to find Dryden's cell phone and computer, he knew that was out of the question. He would however be able to check more thoroughly for any more hidden cameras or listening devices that might still be at his own place.

With a skilled eye, Goren surveyed Eames' apartment one last time before giving it up. He had to trust they'd do a competent job. Even so, he'd already decided come back and revise their work in the morning. He walked to the front door, accompanied by Detective Castillo. Goren extended his hand, and Castillo shook it – latex on latex, and addressed him.

"OK Goren, I'll call you if anything significant turns up," he promised. He had clear brown honest eyes. Goren had no doubt he _would _call.

"I'd appreciate that Castillo and I'm glad it's your team taking care of this." He meant it. At the mention of a possible call, Goren remembered he had a few things to do. For one thing, he needed to get his SIM card into a new cell-phone, after having broken it in a fit of temper. Also, his rumbling stomach was reminding him of its neglect. If he ate something and got some caffeine into his system, he might be able to think more clearly about his next course of action.

Castillo added, "Well I'm sure half of MCS will be over here shortly. We'll get the bastard convicted for this; don't you worry."

"Let's hope so." He didn't bother to inform him that Dryden had already agreed to a plea bargain, but Goren would not rest easy on that front until it had been finalized in court, and the date of appeal had expired.

"Well on behalf of CSU, can you give Detective Eames our best?"

"Will do. Thanks for everything Castillo. I'll see you later." Goren started to walk down the front steps of the apartment.

"Hey!" Castillo called out. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Goren turned back with a furrowed brow. "Weren't you going to get her something to read?"

Goren made his way back up the steps. Eames would probably be released the following day, but if by any chance she wasn't, she might appreciate a book. He perused the bookshelf on the wall near her pale green couch. A darker shade of green on the book in front of him caught his eye. His world fell into slow motion as he read the gold embossed title on the spine. It was his very own copy of "The Complete Works of Charles Dickens." He could only guess how it had ended up here. He reached out his still gloved hands, and slid the book out from the shelf. It was a solid, but he could feel an unevenness inside as he gripped it. There was no wire attached. On pure instinct, he shoved it, and the two books alongside it, into the plastic evidence bag. Castillo watched the entire transaction and was satisfied. He gave Goren a salute.

Goren did not take his removal of potential evidence lightly. In fact, it conflicted powerfully with his ethics and he was feeling it keenly. In the past, he had verbally attacked cops who had taken it upon themselves to do the same. If Dryden launched an appeal of his plea bargain, something like this could have the case dismissed and see him walking the streets. Goren had already burned the diary pages of Eames' appointments right on the premises of One Police Plaza, and now he found himself taking this book from the crime scene. Goren strolled out the door a little too faux casually into the dark cool night and got into his borrowed car, not bothering to remove the latex gloves.

He had almost convinced himself that Dryden may know of Eames' history with William Gatehouse, though he wasn't sure how. The bastard had dangled the morsel about having something on her right in front of him, not to mention the earlier text message predicting that Goren would soon find out her 'true colors'. If this book contained good evidence, and he handed it over to the CSU team, the entire city could know about her indiscretion by the morning. He could just imagine the headlines. This would not only kill the case, but her reputation as well.

He surveyed all the windows of the car, making sure no one was about. Although it was dark out, all seemed clear. He then switched on the interior light of the car and gently opened the hardcover book to find an envelope wedged inside. He wasn't surprised to find that it was being used to bookmark the title page of 'Great Expectations'. He picked up the envelope and turned it over. It was addressed to 'Detective Eames, 1 Police Plaza'. The handwriting looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn't place it immediately. Even so, it made him hesitate for just an instant. There was no return address.

Goren was aware that David Dryden had researched both him and Eames comprehensively; beginning the very afternoon they'd met. He'd not only broken into both their apartments, but also appeared to have regular access to the Internet in jail. Dryden had already verbally acknowledged that he 'couldn't help himself' when it came to research. Hunting through Emaline Moses' phone was how he'd found William Gatehouse. This information had then led to further discoveries, and eventually two murders. As well as this, he had hinted at knowing Melissa's history of sexually transmitted infections. Goren also recalled that during his interrogation, Dryden had revealed his familiarity with the details of Goren's professional life including Gage, Croyden, and Wallace.

Even though Wallace was dead, with her history of handling anthrax, he was still apprehensive about opening the envelope. Dryden seemed to have a similar penchant for unusual poisonings, and who knew what evil thoughts had mired his brain. He rationalized that Dryden would likely know that the entire NYPD had been vaccinated against anthrax. With that thought at the forefront, Goren gingerly opened the envelope. There was no white powder inside, only a piece of paper. As he unfolded it, there appeared to be writing on both sides.

* * *

><p><strong>Dear Robert,<strong>

**If you have found this, and I know you eventually will, I suppose that you will be angry with me for taking her away. Please allow me to explain why I had to do it.**

**Detective Eames was your senior partner and your boss. She was happy to take the credit when times were good, but she let you take the fall when they were not. You were suspended, while her career remained intact. That's the thanks she gave you after riding on your coattails for all those years.**

**I can see that you think you love her, but she doesn't return the sentiment. I could sense her cold indifference to you right from the start. She was a heartless bitch just like Estella. You will thank me for this when you realize the full extent of what's she's done. You are better off in the long run. Remember, this was an act of love.**

**I remain always,**

**Your Dutifully Devoted**

* * *

><p>Goren felt a leaden dread inside him upon reading all the past tense verbs. They gave the impression that Eames was already dead – but she wasn't. By some miracle, she had survived all his traps. As well as planting the honey, Dryden had no doubt laced her alcohol bottles with poison; just like he had done to his own boss- Professor Moses - when he had not stood by him. Clearly, he saw Eames in the same authoritative light.<p>

Goren coaxed his mind back to the day that he and Eames had first met David Dryden at Brownlow College. His partner was still behaving in a strangely neutral manner towards him, as they hadn't yet hashed out the Gatehouse issue. Goren also remembered the look on her face as she'd interrupted his flirting with Melissa. Later when they were talking to Dryden in his garage office, he recalled that she had taken the lead during the questioning. Goren also remembered gazing at her, with what he thought was concealed desire, as she spooned the honey into her coffee mug. Dryden had observed and sensed all of this; he was razor-sharp.

Goren on the other hand had not been himself that day. He had only just been released from hospital and, despite spending several hours with Dryden, he failed to register the instant infatuation the younger man had for him. When Eames later pointed it out, Goren recognized that all the signs were there. So far Dryden's 'obsessive love' for Goren had followed a similar pattern to his dealings with William Gatehouse, only more accelerated. That particular fixation had ended in murder when Dryden's advances had been denied. Goren recognized that Dryden was now entering the final phase of his psychosis, where a physical manifestation of his rage would likely be imminent.

He felt his whole body shaking as he flipped over the letter, wondering what else there was in store. On the reverse side, he perceived a different script. It was the same familiar handwriting that was also on the front of the envelope. These were not Dryden's words. His heart jumped to his mouth as he started to read.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Dear Alex,<em>**

**_I know I swore all contact would be over and done with, but I have to meet with you just one last time. It's the only way I can resolve this. You know where I am._**

**_Frank Goren_**

**_P.S. Please don't tell Bobby. He already wishes me dead._**

* * *

><p>Goren felt acidic bile rising up his esophagus as he read his late brother's words over and over again. He did not fail to note Frank's self-interested and repeated use of the personal pronoun 'I'. He examined the front of the envelope; the stamp was postmarked February 3, 2008. Goren knew that this date was a few months into his suspension. It was after his infiltration of Tates, but well before his undercover job investigating Stoat and Testarossa. He and Eames had lost contact in those months. What had she been up to? Why had she kept this letter?<p>

Goren theorized that Dryden must have removed the Charles Dickens book from his apartment as a keepsake when he planted the camera. He was probably thrilled at the coincidence that Goren possessed the very same title that he had elected for his surveillance project. When Dryden proceeded to Eames' apartment, leaving only God knew how many lethal traps; he must have searched through her personal effects looking for information. He obviously found the letter from 'Frank Goren' and put two and two together. He then left the book, with the letter tucked inside, on Eames' bookshelf. Dryden must have predicted that Goren would find it after Eames' poisoned lifeless body had been found, and the shithead had done all this within a span 18 or 20 hours after meeting them. Quite a feat for someone to carry out alone. Was he working by himself or was Fletcher or someone else involved somehow?

But Eames hadn't died; he hadn't lost her. He was confident he could handle anything else but _that_.

Sex? Lies? Videotape?_ Bring it on, _he thought. He was ready.

So Eames had met with Frank then, and it seemed as though it had been on more than one occasion. And for some reason, she had chosen to keep this from him even after Frank's death. He took a deep breath through his nose, seeking oxygen, and swallowed down hard. His heart was hammering in his chest as he put aside the book and letter and switched off the internal light of the vehicle. He turned the key as the car fired up, and he started his drive towards Brooklyn. A tornado was swirling threatening to form in his head. What could all this mean?


	18. Best Served Cold

**Chapter warning: more sordid prison scenes and bad language - read with caution.**

**THE STOREROOM - RIKERS  
><strong>

Corrections officer Charles Craven opened the door of the large mop-and-bucket filled storeroom, which was attached to the prison laundry. There was no need to tell the hulking, tattooed inmate to put on his orange uniform and get out. He was clearly done anyway. The goateed prisoner passed by Craven, raising his eyebrows in question. The bearded officer responded by holding up eight fingers, indicating the number of minutes required.

Craven dropped his gaze to Dryden, who was kneeling on a folded prison issue towel on the floor of the storeroom and wiping his mouth dry with another. Craven had to acknowledge that the redheaded nut job had proved to be a very useful chattel since his admission to Rikers only a couple of weeks ago.

Unfortunately, Craven had mistakenly believed that he was in full control of the situation. However, this afternoon it had become abundantly clear that a isolation or a mental health until was too good for Dryden. His continued and subtle manipulation had now transformed into a more overt threat. This worried Craven. He had no intention of letting go of the final thread that was his career. Dryden had become volatile since his violent morning visit with Detective Goren. The skinny shithead was now attempting to blackmail him by threatening to expose his activities if he didn't get Goren back in immediately for another visit. The kid was ranting and was wound up as taut as a rattlesnake about to pounce. Craven understood that he had to strike first, and snap his back once and for all.

He would be sorry to see Dryden go in some ways. An inmate with no teeth would have been a valuable sexual commodity in Rikers. Craven decided he could live with the loss however. Another weakling was sure to be admitted sooner or later, and he'd probably be more mentally stable at that. Dryden probably would have been transferred after his sentencing in a couple of months anyway. Craven chuckled inwardly as the sorry son of a bitch stayed kneeling on the floor; this was going to be too easy. Over his orange uniform, Dryden was wearing Goren's dark blue suit coat that June Fletcher had brought in for him. That would be an appropriate little prop.

Not long before, Craven had laughed in derision when Dryden suggested he break into Detective Goren's house for a memento. He had nothing personal against this Goren fellow; besides, Dryden already possessed dozens of surveillance videos to whack off to.

Dryden was a determined little shithead though, and had somehow persuaded that hot piece of tail Fletcher to bring it in and post a letter or two. Craven wasn't even sure that the suit coat was the real deal, but didn't mind covering for Fletcher on occasion. Bitch was smokin' and always rewarded him with top quality cigars. He knew where he'd like to put them if the chance ever came his way.

Craven had only met the owner of the suit coat, the infamous Goren, for the first time the previous day. He was damned lucky the Major Case Detective had decided to come to Rikers alone rather than with his partner. Craven vaguely knew of Goren's name and reputation in the Narcotics division from his own time on the force many moons ago. He'd also heard more than one inmates bitch about his 'wack' interrogations. Goren had pissed off many a con over the years, and he certainly seemed like an imposing presence. Might have made a good corrections officer.

Craven had subtly asked around his old crew in recent days. It seemed that awe surrounding Goren had subsided of late, and there were a lot of rumors floating about. Craven didn't know what to believe, but he certainly didn't doubt Dryden's theory that Goren's free-falling career was because his dog of a partner. When Craven had seen 'Detective Alexandra Eames' on Dryden's arrest papers, he did a double take. After all these years, she had simply fallen into his lap. Of all the luck!

Craven continued staring down at the cowering Dryden. He deliberately didn't give him permission to stand as he paced his heavy shoes in a circle around the prisoner. "OK Dryden. You want the good news or the bad news?"

Dryden lifted his head to look up at Craven. "The good news please." His weak voice sounded surprisingly positive. The kid had no clue that he was a ghost already. The dark circles framed his eerie and even darker eyes. Dryden shut them tight and slowly opened his mouth.

Craven scratched his graying beard." Relax Dryden. I'm not here to pull another tooth. I just came to tell you I heard that Detective Eames was rushed to hospital a few hours ago. She was poisoned apparently. How 'bout that eh? "

Dryden looked at Craven with a gapped-toothed grin. "Is she dead?" The kid was very fuckin' excited.

"Haven't heard yet," answered Craven, "I think she's still hanging in there. You sure that stuff will do the job?"

"Sure I'm sure. If you put in the amount I said, she's a goner." He paused. "Unless it was just the honey she took. Shit!"

* * *

><p><strong>THE PLAN<strong>

Dryden was pissed that some poison honey he planted in her apartment had not done its job, so he'd arranged a back-up. Fifteen years ago, Craven would never have seriously considered facilitating in the murder of a cop. He'd heard she'd been widowed some time ago, and figured that she'd already got her just desserts. But his resentment for her had built unconsciously over the years and had reached a peak this past week. He had the revelation that his life had not turned out the way it should have, and he could pinpoint it with deadly accuracy right back to her; everything had begun with her. Besides, it wasn't like he could get caught. This scheme was hatched solely by Dryden. Even though Craven was willing to assist behind the scenes, Dryden would take all the heat. At least that was the plan.

It was obvious Dryden had some sort of hard-on for this Goren fellow from the first. He had been mentioning him ten or twenty times a day since his admission. It was a piece of cake to get the kid to agree to be passed round the other prisoners in exchange for internet access. Dryden had been transformed from virgin to jailhouse whore almost overnight. Craven had been making a pretty penny from his ass; he had to supplement his retirement fund after all. He even persuaded the nutbar to get his teeth pulled for continued access to his precious online videos.

Craven was surprised that Dryden seemed to have a hidden camera in Goren's apartment, but it kept him occupied and compliant and he didn't see the harm. Besides, a few times Eames had walked into the frame, and it had allowed Craven the opportunity to provoke Dryden.

_"So you gonna get her?" asked Craven. "It looks like she's into your man. How come she's at his apartment? You think they're fucking?"_

_"No! Of course not! And I am gonna get her. It's just taking longer than I thought," Dryden pouted._

_"What did you have in mind?" asked Craven. Dryden looked reluctant. He was obsessed, but not stupid. Craven tried another angle. "What if I tell you Dryden that I used to know Detective Eames."_

Dryden listened in awe as Craven related his history with Eames. Fifteen years ago, he had been a sergeant for the NYPD. One night, he and two of his officers had gone to question a pimp hanging out on a notorious street in the precinct. The pimp had been previously issued with a warning, and was brazenly out again. Things had gotten out of hand and the whore-monger had received a beat-down which had ended in his hospitalization. Craven had barely laid a finger on the sonofabitch; his officers did the heavy-duty stuff. A few prostitutes had witnessed the assault, but knew well enough to keep their mouths shut. Unfortunately, Alex Eames had been working undercover as a pro for Vice that night, and had seen the whole incident. Instead of sticking by her own, she'd gone to the hearing and accused them of using unnecessarily excessive force. The guy was a fuckin' pimp! The kind of crim she was there to bust, but she had sold them up the river all the same. That incident had fast tracked her career alright. How the fuck had she made Major Case so quickly? To add insult to injury, she had a family of cops to protect her from any internal repercussions. The only one to go down in the fallout had been Craven. He was not charged, but had voluntarily quit his post and lost his pension. He'd agreed to go quietly to protect his men. He'd stuck by his at least.

After a bout of unemployment and some short stints in security, he'd pulled a few strings and secured a position as a Corrections Officer. It was now going to take him five more years to get a pension from The NYC Department of Correction. He would be an old man before he could retire. If he'd stayed with the NYPD, he would have qualified for a full pension long ago.

That wasn't all he felt he'd lost. He liked the respect afforded to police officers. Corrections Officers were like dog shit in comparison. His job repelled any woman he tried to get serious about after his wife and kids had left him. While he had easily risen through the ranks in the NYPD, he had stagnated in the prison system for over a decade. His record was mired several excessive force strikes and other miscellaneous accusations. This had kept him down on the bottom rung for years.

Life sure didn't turn out the way he'd planned and he could trace it all back to one person - Alexandra Eames. If it wasn't for her, by now he would have made lieutenant or even captain. Instead he'd lost his police pension and his respect. Still, life had a way evening things out, and Dryden's suggestion had been a little too tempting. Revenge really was a dish best served cold

So just over a week ago on his morning off, Craven paid a little visit to Detective Eames' apartment. He'd worn gloves and entered the place without incident. After checking on the honey Dryden had left, he poured all but a spoonful or two of sugar down the sink. Apparently, Dryden knew that she enjoyed multiple spoons of sugar in her coffee, so this would increase the chances of her ingesting it.

He then searched the place on pure instinct wanting something more on her. He was still doubtful that honey could really kill a person. Tossing a room was something he was good at after almost 40 years as a cop and corrections officer. Naturally, the bitch's whole apartment had been as clean as a whistle. The only object of interest, besides a few brand new packets of condoms and lube, was a letter from a 'Frank Goren'. It appeared she was banging someone with the same surname as her current partner. He took the letter and brought it back to the prison. He knew it would be a good bargaining tool to get Dryden to continue having his teeth pulled. The inmates had already started dubbing him 'the vagina' in anticipation. They were all sick motherfuckers as far as he was concerned, but it would keep them subdued. Craven's assumption was correct. Dryden had snatched up the letter with glee and ranted and raved about it at length. After that, he had enthusiastically got fucked by or sucked off half a dozen prisoners and guards in order to earn his next favor.

The long and the short of it was, Dryden was worried that the honey wasn't strong enough to kill her. He explained that when he planted it on the morning of his arrest, he wasn't one hundred percent sure it would finish her off. He just wanted to hurt her 'for being a cold bitch who thinks she has the goods to reject Goren'. The more internet research he did on her career, and the more Craven harped on about his own dealings with Eames, the more infuriated Dryden became with her. Craven sensed that it wasn't just his boner for Goren that was bothering him, Dryden clearly had an issue with career-related betrayal. He wanted Eames dead and soon. Craven quickly realized that their mutual wishes were in alignment. This would be the perfect murder. After all, the killer was already in custody. It was time for Plan B.

Craven's Sunday trip to Brownlow College was quite the drive, but it had borne fruit. Dryden had given Craven specific directions on how to procure succinylcholine, which was apparently some type of substance used to put down horses. The fucker was all excited about this particular poison. He thought it was appropriate to off Eames with because of some prior case she'd worked. Being an agricultural college, succinylcholine it was definitely available. Dryden knew just where he could get a hold of it without security cameras picking up Craven's presence. He'd located the stuff without difficulty and brought it back to the city.

That night, Craven re-entered Eames' apartment. It was almost too easy, as the bitch never seemed to be home. His first task was to locate the Charles Dickens book. Dryden had apparently left one of Goren's books on her shelf complete with underlined passages as a cryptic message for the detective. Whatever! Craven wasn't interested in the fucked up workings of Dryden's head; he was only interested in the letter. Dryden had written an amusing little confession in black and white on the reverse side of Frank Goren's epistle. Craven carefully inserted the letter in the 'Great Expectations' section as instructed and put it back on the shelf. Evidently, this Goren was so supernaturally brilliant, that Dryden was confident he'd find it in no time.

The second task he carried out in her Forest Hills apartment was to put the requisite amount of the succinylcholine substance in all of the open bottles of alcohol. If this was manufactured to kill horses, it would make short work of her. Fortunately, she seemed to be quite the drinker. Craven kept some of the leftover poison for himself. It could come in handy if the stuff actually worked. He'd had occasion to off a number of prisoners over the years, and it could be a messy business.

Well, he would just have to wait and see. Eames' life was now hanging in the balance, but Craven would leave it in the hands of providence. Nevertheless, if the cunt somehow survived this, Dryden had apparently emailed the video file of her sucking off and riding her partner to ADA Fletcher. It was only after viewing the sex video just a few hours ago that Craven realized the tiny blond whore of a detective had probably been banging the entire Goren clan. God knew how many others there were too, judging from the fresh stock of condoms in her apartment.

The sex video was pretty explicit stuff, but tender all the same. Her face wasn't visible through most of it, but there was no doubt that the rest of her body parts certainly were. The audio had recorded them screaming out each others names, leaving no doubt of their identities. He kind of resented that this bitch had found someone to love her when she clearly didn't deserve it. But he graciously hoped that Eames had enjoyed her final fuck as much she sounded like she did. Who was he to deprive her from going out with a bang? On the off chance that she didn't die, then she would be fucking humiliated at the very least. This could end up all over the internet, and every cop in the state would watch it. Although Craven had appreciated the video file, he wasn't really up with technology. He let the prisoners and other guards take care of that stuff. He liked things done the old fashioned way with minimal risk of detection. Internet shit scared him because he didn't know how stuff could be traced. He was glad it was in Fletcher's capable hands. He couldn't chance getting caught.

Sure, he'd taken a huge risk by breaking in to Eames' apartment again, but he had worn latex gloves the whole time, and no one had witnessed him. With Dryden's written confession, there would be nothing to connect him to any of this. Unless Dryden blabbed of course, which he was now threatening to do.

* * *

><p><strong>THE STOREROOM - RIKERS<strong>

Craven stopped pacing around Dryden and yanked him roughly to his feet.

So that's the good news Dryden. You wanna hear the bad news?

Dryden shrugged his shoulders. His spotty face and desperate eyes met Craven's.

"Well, I'm afraid your Detective Goren didn't make it. He was found dead on the scene. Must have drunk up the alcohol too." He gave Dryden a pat on the shoulders in a mock gesture of comfort. The kid dropped back to the floor like a stone, hands on his head and started to wail.

"What? Shhh! Shhh! Be quiet! Shut up! No. No. No. NO NO NO!"

Craven watched Dryden's face fill with desolation the news hit him. It was fascinating to watch, but the kid was getting kind of loud. Just then, a little ahead of time, a fire alarm rang out across the jail. It was a little early, but it would have to do.

"C'mon David. We don't have much time," shouted Craven, reaching for a large bucket.

* * *

><p><strong>GOREN'S APARTMENT<strong>

When Goren arrived home, it was almost midnight. He was still reeling from the revelation that Eames had met with Frank and withheld that fact. If Frank had approached her merely to borrow money, why hadn't she told him? She had stood by his side at Frank's funeral and said nothing; she had comforted him all the time knowing. This was much worse than being embarrassed about her history with a male escort. What else was she hiding from him?

All this speculating meant that Goren was no longer tired. He didn't know quite what to do with himself, but he knew he had to stay busy. He saw some messages flashing on his landline, but didn't particularly want hear any more information. He had no immediate desire to speak to Eames, but he still wanted to know that she was OK. He had no wish to talk to Ross, but he still wanted to check on the case. He craved some whiskey, but was worried about its potentially being laced with poison. He knew he should eat, but didn't feel like it.

He had to decide on something, so he pulled out a meal from the freezer - Moroccan Harrissa soup; it was one of the meals Eames had bought him after his stay in hospital. Eames! He threw it in the microwave and while it heated, he patrolled his apartment with the frequency scanner. The steady beep informed him that there were no cameras or recording devices about. When he got to the bedroom, he saw the rumpled sheets on his bed. The room still carried the aroma of their lovemaking. He walked over and ripped off the sheets in anger, throwing them unevenly into the hamper. In his fit of aggression, he knocked over the box of condoms. He didn't bother to pick them up; he did not want to reflect on the lingering reminders of the previous night when he had loved her with such urgency.

Goren instead turned his attention to the strewn books on the bookshelf, which he had torn apart looking for more cameras that morning. It seemed like so long ago now. He then found himself staring at the painting of the ship which hung on the wall. He was weathering a storm of his own. Where was his goddamn zephyr to carry him away? Eventually, the insistent beckoning of the microwave roused him from his dangerous daze.

He returned to the kitchen and played his multiple messages. Usually he had none, but his cell was out of commission. There were messages from Ross, Logan, Lewis, Wheeler, Deakins, Eames' sister Liz, and Zack Nichols.

None of the messages had any significant updates, but Ross mentioned that Goren would need to come in to 1PP to make a statement about his visit to Rikers. He also said that Nichols and Wheeler had just been assigned to investigate Eames' poisoning. Goren felt satisfaction at this decision. He hadn't known either detective long, but they were his first choice for this if he couldn't do it himself.

Liz wanted to know if he needed anything. There was a long pause in her message and he could detect the emotion in her voice as she thanked him for saving her sister's life. The message went on: _I rest easy at night knowing that you're always by her side, and would never let her down. _

He blinked to rid the moisture forming in his eyes as he attempted to eject Liz's heartfelt message from his thoughts. He carried his soup over to the small wooden kitchen table and sat down. He dumped way too much salt over the 'heart healthy' meal out of pure spite. He just wasn't up to returning any calls right then, though he knew that he should. After hearing Liz's message, he doubted his ability to form even one coherent sentence.

He was momentarily relieved at the distraction of feeding the starving lion which had been lurking in his stomach, but his thoughts still rebelliously turned to her. He surveyed his surroundings: the fridge, the counters, the one remaining orange juice stain on the floor that he had missed in this morning's clean-up. He couldn't help but reminisce that at about this time the previous night, he had been engaged in the one of most magnificent moments of his existence. He allowed himself to relive his relish at taking her from behind on that very counter over there. He could not ever remember any other time in his life when he had been so stirred up, and yet so carefree at the same time. And now...? How could everything get so fucked up so quickly? Why wouldn't life let him have what everyone else was allowed to have?

Between spoonfuls, he started to tinker with the fragments of his cell-phone in an attempt to repair it. Some of the soup was still frozen in parts, and burning hot in others, but it barely registered with him. The kitchen clock loudly ticked its telltale heart out.

He finished up and tossed out the takeaway container in the trash, not bothering to recycle it. He turned and found himself picking up the letter again. He felt furious, nay enraged with Frank, and yes - angry with _her_ too. His mind explored the gamut of possibilities. In his fantastical scenarios, Eames was cast as both angel and devil. He was ashamed at how extreme some of his thoughts were. Eames was good; that much he knew. But Frank was not; he knew that too. What the hell had Frank said to her that was so bad that she wouldn't tell him about it? Had he told her about their childhood? The letter was addressed to 1PP so at least Frank hadn't gone to her apartment, but had she gone to his? The post-script of the letter read: _Please don't tell Bobby. He already wishes me dead_.

Just what had Frank told her?

_I'd wait for the splash, _his mind supplied. They were the last words he had uttered to his brother.

This internal conversation was becoming too intense for Bobby to handle. So, like a shark, he kept moving. He stalked into his disordered bedroom to use the bathroom. As he washed his hands, he gazed at his reflection. It seemed that each consecutive night he looked in the mirror, he was a vastly different man. His head, incredibly, had continued to swell. He looked so ugly, but even his forehead couldn't rival his hideous thoughts.

He cleaned his teeth and took a functional five-minute shower. He toweled himself off and went in search of a pair of boxers. He drew a little blood as he stubbed his toe on the treadmill, but the pain seemed far away and he barely winced. He had the vague intention of taking an allergy pill or two treat the swelling. This lead him to remember a bottle of sleeping pills Olivet had prescribed him. Since he didn't want to develop a habit, he only took them once in a blue moon; tonight would be the night he needed them. He took three pink sleeping pills and three white allergy pills. He was seeking oblivion. He opened some of his whiskey bottles and sniffed. They smelled OK, but he just could not run the risk that they had been tainted too. He poured the contents down the sink - hundreds of dollars worth of liquid forgetfulness. His head gradually started to get heavy with the effect of the pills. He knew that if he were going to sleep tonight, that it would have to be on the couch and not in his bed – their bed- where they had been both profoundly loved and acutely violated at the same time.

He grabbed a comforter and stretched across the couch without turning off the light. He had tried to handle so much today, that he couldn't muster the energy for that one last act of shutting down. He tried in vain to push her likeness from his mind. He had kissed her heartily and often on this couch in recent weeks. How could he ever do without her?

The exhausted Goren closed his eyes, but it was useless. Not sixty seconds later, they shot back open as he suddenly remembered that Dryden had underlined some passages in 'Great Expectations'. He knee buckled as he got up again to retrieve the book, sat back down on the couch, and began to read. There were dozens of underlined passages referring to the character of Estella. They all mentioned her heartlessness and her inability to love the Pip character, whom she thought was beneath her.

**_"'_**_**I have a heart to be stabbed or shot it, I have no doubt,'" Said Estella, "and of course, if it ceased to beat, I would cease to be. But you know what I mean. I have no softness there, no- sympathy- sentiment- nonsense.'"**_

**"_I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere. I have never had any such thing."_ **

And so the underlined quotes went on, clouding Goren's judgment. He finally reached his limit and hurled the book across the room. He remained seated and rubbed his temples with his fingers, his mind trying to hunt and gather Dryden's intent. Yes, there was his obsessive love; he was almost a textbook case. As well as that, he obviously (and erroneously) had formed the notion that Eames was responsible for killing his NYPD career. That must have irked Dryden considerably because his own boss, Professor Moses, was all set to eject him from the faculty. This would have effectively ended his life's research on the 'worker gene'. Moses hadn't quite succeeded in getting rid of him because Dryden had murdered him first. But it wasn't only those two issues that drove David Dryden to carry out his dirty deeds.

_Rejection_, thought Goren. That had been one of Dryden's primary motivations. He was under the impression Eames had rejected Goren's love, and Dryden could relate to that because he had been rejected by Gatehouse. He must have felt that neither Eames or Gatehouse had the right to reject either of them. He recalled Dryden's words and the hateful look in his eyes when he had cracked in the interrogation.

_You're a tall guy, a smart guy, you're way out of her league. She should be begging you; she should be fucking paying you. Fucking Gatehouse was a goddamn gigolo!_

_That fucking drone thought he was too good for me. He thought I would beg to let him touch me. I showed him!_

_ She'll never want you! REJECTED!_

But Goren now knew that Eames had wanted him, and she hadn't rejected him. The fluids in his knee cracked as he pulled himself off the couch. He went back to the kitchen to replay Liz's words. He scrolled forward though the other messages until he found it. He played it once, twice. _Thank you for saving my sister's life_…_ I rest easy at night knowing that you're always by her side, and would never let her down._

Without further delay, Goren dialed until he got the line connected to East Chisolm Memorial. A night nurse picked up and informed him that there had been no change in her condition, and that 'Ms Eames' was resting comfortably. By all accounts the guard was still posted at her door, and she would be able to receive visitors from 9am.

Goren thanked the nurse a little too emotionally and the line disconnected. A tidal wave of relief engulfed him. She could be dead, should be dead, but she wasn't. Whatever reason she had for not telling him about her meetings with Frank was minor compared to the concept of her no longer being in his world.

In the morning, he would just ask her to explain. Hell, maybe he would never ask her and simply wait for her to tell him on her own time. He put the phone back on its cradle, and this time he remembered to switch off the light. He located the couch in the dark and flopped back heavily onto it. His head felt like a lead balloon, but there was an underlying happiness in his heart.

He tried to focus on the sounds of the cars that occasionally passed, guessing what make and model they might be. It was his answer to counting sheep. However, he could not completely subdue the voices in his head. The devil inside whispered with menace that he was going to lose her, had no right to be with her in this way, and couldn't trust her. But then his memories of their almost ten years together came to the fore, contradicting these malevolent assertions. She had stood by him every day for countless years; she had protected him from criminals, and from himself; she had been his one and only source of happiness for many moons. Not only that, in recent years she had fielded each and every one of the cascading pieces of his life, and had proceeded to glue them back in place in an attempt to make him whole again. And she had achieved all this with barely a grumble. He was absolutely certain that he could depend on her no matter what. But could he really trust her with his heart?

_It's too late._

He recalled the words she had uttered after the Lezard case. He had agonized over them for months, and had never dared ask her to clarify what she had meant. He understood their significance now. It was indeed too late; they were both in far too deep to back out. He handed her his heart to entrust because he could do nothing else. There was no other option for his continued survival. He also wasn't unaware of how much it had taken her to offer her body and soul for him to love after she had been widowed. Maybe she had no choice either.

With the two sides of the debate still raging on in his head, the chemistry of the pills won out; and he fell into a fitful slumber. His last thought was that it was high time he took care of her for a change.


	19. Peeling The Onion

**A/N Thank you once again for the reviews or just for reading. Since I didn't post a chapter last week, this one is double the length (just like Bobby).  
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Goren woke with a start to the sound of a ringing phone. It was not his cell. He had the groggy realization that it had been ringing for some time. He threw off his blanket, and he knee protested at his getting vertical a little too quickly. He picked up.

"Goren," he croaked out.

"So you are alive. Why have you been incommunicado?"

It was Ross. No 'How are you?' of course. Ross this early in the morning was never a good thing. Goren looked up at the clock, and registered surprise. It was already just past 8.00am.

"Everything OK with Eames Captain?"

"I just spoke to her. She's fine. Anxious to hear from you though."

Goren felt a little guilty. "I called the hospital last night, but she was sleeping." It sounded lame even to his own ears.

"You feel up to coming into work today Goren? You do still have the Picasso case you know. How's your head?"

With his free hand, Goren reached up to his swollen forehead. He must look like a work of Picasso. "Head seems a little better. I have to talk to Eames first, I could be in at work 11.00." With the events of the past few days, Goren had done virtually no work on their current case; the theft of some Picasso sketches from the house of a well-connected private collector. He realized he hadn't even asked Eames for an update. Goren couldn't help but notice that he'd been off his game since the day he'd walked into that bee filled hotel room in Queens where William Gatehouse's red and puffy corpse had lain in wait.

"My head's fine."

"Good Detective. We need to get moving on the art case. I want you to hand over to Jeffries and Andrews again. You're too distracted – understandably of course."

"OK Captain," he submitted immediately, and without protest. He hated letting go of cases. This one had interested him too - it was so much more agreeable than a homicide. He was really starting to feel that having his fingers in so many pies had caused him to lose his focus. "I'll give them a call and arrange a handover later today." Though he couldn't see him, Goren hear from Ross's tone that he had nodded in agreement. The man was clearly under pressure too. Bobby sometimes didn't realize how much strain his captain must be under – all the time. Shit, he barely used to even see Ross as a human being.

Ross continued, "Nichols and Wheeler got an early start and they're at your partner's apartment now investigating the poisoning. The four of us need to rendezvous and get your statement about the particulars of your visit with Dryden yesterday morning. Then they're planning to go to Rikers to interview him. I've no doubt he'll admit it. He's confessed to everything else."

Goren realized the case was out of his hands. "The five of us you mean."

"What?"

"Not the four of us; you mean the five of us need to meet. We can't leave Eames out of this. She was the one who was poisoned."

"Well she thinks she can convince the hospital to release her today, but I get the feeling the doctor may have other ideas."

"What? I thought you said she was OK." He couldn't stop the alarm from penetrating his vocal cords.

"Relax. She sounded fine as of five minutes ago. In fact, to facilitate our progress, I could get Wheeler and Nichols to meet us at the hospital. From our conversation, she clearly thinks she's up to it."

It was Goren's turn to nod. "That could work. Her family will probably want to see her first thing though." _And me, _his brain added.

"Right – 11.00 then? I'll set it up," answered Ross. He sounded relieved.

"Alright, and Captain – you at work?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you bring my binder with the case notes and uh…a new cell. I couldn't fix this one."

"Will do."

Goren found himself surprised that Ross was not being a jerk about any of this. By and large, his relationship with his boss was continuing to improve.

"Anything else?" asked Ross. "A paper bag?"

"Huh?" he answered. It was too soon after waking for Goren to get it.

"Never mind. Just call your partner will you. I'll see you at 11.00."

Ross hung up and Goren sprung into action. He hurried to the bathroom. He wasn't accustomed to sleeping for almost seven hours, and he considered 8am a late hour. After he took care of business, he washed his hands. He seemed to have a sleeping pill hangover, and felt kind of lousy in a different way than usual. When he looked in the mirror, Ross's comment about the paper bad suddenly made sense to him. He still had one ugly swollen head, which wasn't really fit for public consumption.

Goren smiled and shook said head. His amused reaction was not so much at the joke itself, but the fact his boss had even tried to make one. Goren surveyed his image, and concluded that it wasn't as bad as the previous day. His expanded forehead had reduced by a third already. At this rate, he figured he would look normal in a day or two. As he walked into his bedroom, he couldn't help but see the nanny cam hidden in the false 'Great Expectations' book. He found some latex gloves, although he had already contaminated this particular piece of evidence, and picked it up. He returned to the living room and retrieved the underlined 'Complete works of Charles Dickens' book and the mysterious letter from Frank, with Dryden's venomous words still scrawled on the back. He placed everything in a few evidence bags and rested the collection next to the frequency scanner on his kitchen table. He was determined to tackle this mess today, and he knew he couldn't do it alone. How he looked suddenly seemed trifling in comparison; he had to talk to his partner.

He hit 'redial' on his phone and was transferred through to her room.

"Hello."

"Eames?"

"I used to be Eames. No, it's Liz."

"Oh Liz. How is she?"

Liz already seemed to know it was him. "She's fine. I only saw her for a few minutes. She's gone to shower by herself; no sponge bath for her. She's not supposed to have visitors until nine, but I think they wanted Nate out of the waiting room. He was being a little…exuberant."

"So she's feeling better?" Goren had a single-minded focus, and it was on one person only.

"She looks her normal self to me. You should come see her."

Goren thought he heard an accusatory tone, though his guilty conscience could have imagined it. "I'll be there within the hour. I just wanted to stop by her apartment and check that everything's safe and sound."

"Oh of course. I'd feel a whole lot better if you did. I can't believe that creep tried to poison you, then my sister."

"Well, don't worry. I'll take care of her apartment…and him." Bobby felt conflicted on that front. He changed the subject. "Listen Liz, thanks for your message last night. It uh..meant a lot." Stuff like this made Bobby nervous and he bit the fingertip of his ring finger. It was itchy.

"Well, I meant every word Bobby. I'm glad you always have my sister's back – especially _now_." He did not misinterpret her tone this time. She obviously knew they'd been together. Either her father or her sister must have told her. The brand new phase of he and Alex's relationship was already out in more ways than one. He was not happy that everyone knew before he'd had the chance to savor it. He just hoped to God it wouldn't end when it had only just begun.

"How's Nate doing?" he asked. He wanted to dodge the subject; this was not the right time, place or person.

"Oh, he's fine. You want to talk to him?"

"Uh, I'm coming over in a bit. I'll see him then. I've really gotta get going Liz. I'll be there soon. I'll bring him something." _Shit! When was he going to have time to do that._

"Don't you want to wait and talk to Alex? She'll be back in a minute."

"Uh, just tell her I'm bringing a change of clothes for you. See you in a bit Liz."

"OK Goren." She sounded startled.

He hung up before she could say anymore. He felt guilty, but he needed to talk to Eames - alone and face-to-face.

He was out the door in five minutes and off to Forest Hills. He'd run out of clean suits, so had dressed in denim jeans, boots, and a black t-shirt. He clipped his badge on his hip, and put the safety on his gun. He would keep it concealed in casual civvies. He topped it off with a long brown leather jacket, and pulled his Armani sunglasses over his eyes. There was still a little chill in the air, but the sun was coming out.

As he drove, he glanced at the seat beside him to check if he'd forgotten anything – he hadn't. The evidence bags, the scanner, the clothes he'd picked out for her, and his broken cell were all present and accounted for. He wondered if Nichols and Wheeler would be at her apartment still. He kind of hoped they weren't; they would have too many questions he wasn't ready to answer. If he were honest with himself, he was not really going there to check out the safety of her apartment. He had removed evidence from the scene of a crime, and he had to make it right by 'fessing up. He just hoped that Castillo wouldn't get any fallout from letting him enter the crime scene in the first place. He hadn't really given the guy a choice.

Goren turned the radio off in annoyance. The drive time moronic drivel was pissing him off more than the early morning traffic he had to combat between Brooklyn and Queens. When he finally reached her apartment, he was surprised to see Detective Castillo and couple of uniforms just pulling out of the driveway in a midnight blue SUV. Castillo pulled over, and Goren did the same. The latter switched off the engine and got out, grabbing the scanner as approached the open window of the CSU detective's still-running car.

"Goren, how's your partner. Wheeler says she's doing fine."

"Yeah, she was lucky," answered Goren.

During their brief conversation, Castillo explained that Eames' apartment was given the all-clear by Nichols and Wheeler, who had only recently left. The tests had not come back on the potential toxins in the honey and the alcohol bottles and other foodstuffs, but they were being rushed through. Major Case would apparently be informed by lunchtime. Castillo also warned that the place needed little cleaning up, but that he was confident it was safe to enter.

"You might want to go shopping and restock the kitchen and bathroom. We took everything edible or spreadable out of there, " he explained.

"OK. I'll take care of that. I appreciate all you've done Castillo." Goren offered his hand, and Castillo shook it lightly.

"Well the NYPD look after their own."

Goren nodded, not detecting sarcasm. He guessed everybody on the force didn't put credence in his reputation for being a 'rat'. "Before I forget, here's your scanner." He handed it to Castillo.

"You're a man of your word Goren. Find anything?"

"Nothing new." That was true at least.

"We'd better be on our way. Got another call out already. That's New York City for ya." Castillo gave a two-fingered salute and drove off.

The morning was chilly. Goren went back to his car and retrieved Eames' key, entering her apartment. He surveyed the scene, picking up a piece of yellow and black tape that had been left behind. He threw it in the trash and stalked around the kitchen, opening the fridge and a few drawers to survey the contents The CSU were as good as their word, and had done a thorough job; it really wasn't as messy as he'd feared. They'd attempted to put everything back in its proper place. He went to her bedroom and eyed her white satin sheets again. He opened her bedside drawers looking for liquids, but he found only a brown unsealed pharmacy bag. He opened it and looked inside. There were three boxes of condoms. _Were these the kind she liked? _He noticed a receipt inside, and his curiosity got the better of him. The purchase date was ten days ago. She bought them for him, just like she'd bought new lingerie and satin sheets. He smiled in satisfaction despite his other more pressing concerns. There were a whole lot of condoms in that bag and he intended to put every last one of them to good use if luck, and Alex, would only come back to his side. He also couldn't help but notice that the receipt showed she had purchased lubricant at the same time. Although he was annoyed at their prying, he was relieved the CSU seemed to have removed every last liquid, cream and foodstuff from the house. She would not be poisoned again.

He glanced at his watch. It was already ten past nine. He'd better get going to the hospital. He could come back later after he'd shopped for her. He felt better about having visited her apartment because it seemed safe. His visit also bought the serendipitous benefit of being able to claim that he had found the book with Frank and Dryden's letter inside this morning, and not the previous night. This would protect Castillo's ass. It was not like Goren to compromise a crime scene like that, but this was his brother and his partner; they were special circumstances. He acknowledged to himself that he was going to have to inform Ross, Wheeler and Nichols about what had been happening with this case. But he needed to talk to Eames first, so she could help him to decide just how much to reveal. It was time to see her and peel the goddamn onion.

He noticed a Starbucks on his way to the hospital. He stopped to brave the queues and got her cherry Danish and a cappuccino – breakfast of champions. He added a cappuccino for Liz, and a gingerbread man for Nate. As he got back into Lewis's vehicle, he sipped his own strong black coffee and downed a cream cheese bagel as he drove. He was going to need all the strength he could get. Maybe the caffeine would clear his head.

He approached her hospital room, balancing the tray of coffees and pastries in one hand while her clothes and the other evidence bags were tucked under his other arm, as well as in his pockets. He suddenly understood that women didn't just carry handbags because they looked cute. The guard was standing by the door, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'm Detective Goren. Her partner."

The guard looked disbelieving. His badge wasn't visible and he wasn't dressed like a cop.

"Let me see some ID, " asked the young officer.

The door swung open quickly. "It's fine officer Adams. He _is_ my partner." She must have been waiting for him. She gestured a hand to indicate he should enter and closed the door behind them; they were alone. He paused and looked at her. She looked good – better, but she was still in a hospital gown. He felt hesitant. He was so happy to see her and yet so desperate to know about her dealings with Frank. He didn't know what to say to her, but it turned out he didn't have to say anything. She got on tiptoes and reached up to kiss him. With his hands full, all he could do was bend forward to her height and let her. He closed his eyes as she made contact; he felt conflicted, and drew back before she did.

She looked jarred for a moment, but recovered as she reached up to touch his forehead. "You look handsome today Bobby. Your head's almost better."

The second mode of contact threw him, and the _Complete Works of Charles Dickens_ fell to the floor. "Woah, let me put this stuff down. I got you a Danish," he said in a faux cheerful manner.

"Oooh, thanks. I've already had breakfast, but I want that coffee." She took the tray from him and moved aside, so he could place his armfuls of evidence bags on the bedside stand. She was curious, but spied the change of clothes first.

"You brought me clothes too. Good! I'm sick of this hospital gown. I was just trying to get changed before you came, but I only have my dirty clothes from yesterday."

"Yeah, I uh..stopped by your apartment. Where are Liz and Nate?"

"They left not long ago. Must have guessed we wanted some privacy."

"Uh.." his sentence stopped before it began as she opened the plastic evidence bag and proceeded to pull out the lacy burgundy underwear. He turned around to let her change, always the gentleman. He could hear her voice behind him, her body close.

"Of course you matched the underwear with the blouse."

He tried not to picture what was going on just inches behind him to no avail. "I like that blouse with the fr- frilly bits." He even sounded like an awkward moron to his own ears. Wasn't this the same woman who he had positioned naked on his kitchen counter only two nights ago, but she was also his work partner of night on ten years. He couldn't completely mesh the two just yet- Alex and Eames.

"OK, I'm decent," she declared.

He turned to face her and his thoughts were downright indecent. Her freshly washed hair was tousled and her face was so cute. The black jeans and rich burgundy made her skin glow. On impulse, he reached out and touched one of the deliberately frayed petal-like ruffles which were splayed over the bust area. He had wanted to do that last time he saw her in it, but she was so mad at him, that he had kept it as pure fantasy.

"Goren," her breath was short, "Don't start things you can't finish." She closed her eyes and he knew she was inviting him to kiss her, but he held back. Instead, he passed the still-hot green, white and Starbucks cup under her nose. Her eyes shot open.

"Drink!" he commanded gently. She didn't need to be told twice.

As she sipped, he eased her towards the bed, sitting her down on the mattress. She sighed in acceptance. The coffee won out.

Goren sat down on the visitors' chair facing her. He needed to maintain some distance between them. He looked out the window at the view of brick walls and a patch of green lawn and cleared his throat. "Ross is coming over at 11.00 to check on you, and get and update on the cases. Wheeler and Nichols should be here too, if you're feeling up to discussing it that is." He didn't want to be too impatient for her recovery. He knew just how shitty he had felt when he was poisoned.

"Yeah Ross already told me. I _am_ feeling better. Might even get out today, if I can persuade the doctor."

He nodded, "I'm glad." She was tough – always had been. There was an awkward silence.

She nodded towards the direction of the door. "You left your suit jacket in the waiting room. Wheeler brought it here. At least this one was found." He turned to look at his hanging coat. Shit, he was getting absent-minded. Before he could comment, she spoke.

"Why didn't you want to talk to me Bobby?"

He looked at her quickly; it was clear she was making an accusation. "What? This morning? I did want to, but I had to stop by your apartment. My cell's broken. Ross is bringing over a new one so I could switch cards. He's bringing my binder too." The last pieces of information were really not essential.

"Glad to hear it. You look naked without that thing. Not that that's a bad look for you," she joked. He knew she was attempting to calm him.

He smiled, but it was distant. He didn't respond to her flippant flirting, and she was quick to perceive it..

"Why didn't you call me last night Bobby?" she asked more softly this time. "_My_ cell's not broken." She looked hurt.

He felt defensive again. "I called the hospital to check you were OK. I stopped by your apartment. I.."

"But why didn't you _talk_ to me?" she interjected.

"I c-couldn't. I just couldn't talk to you." He looked at the window again, trying not to betray how hurt _he_ was.

She could see it anyway. Her voice went soft. "Oh Bobby, come here." She patted the space on the bed next to her. She wanted him closer

He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head in refusal, declining once more to look at her. He was feeling more and more fragile in recent years. He used to be so fearless. He didn't know where to begin; she was not well. This was not the time.

Her tone went from soft to anxious. "Bobby, talk to me. Whatever it is, I promise it'll be OK."

"You promise, huh?"

"I promise," she reached for his hand, but he slid it into his pocket instead. It was now or never. His hands trembled just a little and he pulled out the evidence bag containing Frank's letter and its envelope. He placed the bag on her bed, in the same place she had patted for him to sit. He left the side that showed Frank's writing on top. She picked it up, recognizing it almost immediately. He fixed his eyes on her features as she did so, waiting for any micro expression that would give away her true feelings. He saw only pain and sadness.

"Where did you find this?" Her tone was flat and angry, just like it had been when he'd found her phone number in William Gatehouse's diary. She'd accused him of investigating her.

"I found it in a book at your apartment. I recognized that it was one of my books, and I knew I hadn't lent it to you. Dryden must have taken it from my place, and put the letter inside. He wanted me to find it after you'd…died. Look..look on the back." He didn't go into full details of which book and why.

She flipped it over and her eyes skated over Dryden's malevolent words under the plastic. He could see that she understood that Dryden really had planned to kill her. She turned the letter back over and looked at Frank's words again. Shaking her head, she looked across at him.

"What are you thinking Bobby?" She looked at him earnestly. They were both cops, which meant they were both naturally suspicious.

"No Eames. Don't make me start talking. I don't know what to think yet. You need to talk first." He was acutely aware of their last heated exchange when she had asked him much the same thing. He wouldn't let allow her to use that strategy again – not about this. He looked at her, he was waiting.

She looked back at him defiantly, and he feared what was coming. Suddenly, words flung out of her with unconstrained hurt. "I can see it in your eyes Bobby. You're going to walk away from me now, aren't you? Even after what happened the other night. We're, we're lovers now, and you're just going to push me away." The last part was not phrased as a question.

Whatever he had expected, it wasn't that. Her eyes were not angry, they were pleading. She reached for his hand, and he let her take it with both of hers and pull it towards her. He looked at her with confusion. He observed the tears, which threatened to well in her pained eyes. He reflected not for the first time that he didn't appreciate his own acute ability to rouse such negative feelings in her. Then there was the word she uttered that brought up alien emotions in him. _Lovers. _In essence, she was the first lover he'd ever had, and he already understood that she would be the only one he would ever love in that way.

"I won't walk away Alex, but I," he dropped his head. "You might." His Adam's apple ached as he tried to swallow.

Why Bobby, why would you think that?

He met her eyes again for half a second, and then looked over her shoulder at the beige wall. "If I don't handle this right… in the right way. You'll go; you have before" He looked suitably contrite after pointing that out. He never wanted to mention again how she had given him the cold shoulder after his reinstatement, and again just two weeks ago when they had argued in the interrogation room. It had made him realize how much he had taken her friendship as a given. Now it wasn't platonic between them, he felt he had even more still to lose.

She squeezed his hand, obligating him to hold it. "But I came back, didn't I?"

He nodded, but he kept his brows furrowed and moved his eyes from the wall to the light of the window again. Genuine exchanges with people he loved were foreign to him. Even though he craved emotional intimacy, he felt ill at ease and as displaced as a refugee when it attempted to creep up on him.

She maintained her grip on his hand. "And you left me too, remember?"

"That wasn't by choice." His eyes fired up as they met hers. It killed him to be suspended, and he still hadn't completely absolved himself for repeatedly attempting to sever her from his life during that dark period. That had been his choice. No wonder she hadn't told him she had met with Frank at that time. He had been unavailable to her. "I came back to you." He didn't realize for a moment that he had virtually echoed her words.

"So what does that tell you Bobby?"

He nodded to acknowledge her point. Although it was left unspoken, he exhaled and his shoulders slumped. He grasped the concept that neither one of them planned to abandon the other. He reached his free hand to touch her face, pulling his chair closer. He looked into her eyes again. _ You were my lover long before you came to my bed, and I'll never leave you. _He longed to say to her, but didn't dare. Instead he attempted to communicate this with the eye language in which they had achieved fluency over the years.

She closed her eyes for a second, obviously reveling in his trusting touch. "Bobby, do you remember what you told me that night two weeks ago, when we were sitting back to back in your kitchen chairs? She asked him, opening her eyes again.

As he contemplated what conversation she might be referring to, he took her hands in his and proceeded to stroke the length of her fingers with his long ones. He had taken many an opportunity to touch her in this way, only more stealthily, on numerous occasions over this past year. He had developed a fondness for inadvertently caressing her fingers when she handed him a cup of coffee or a file at work. It had given him a thrill when she had let his fingers linger just a little longer every time he tried it. Even so, on not one occasion had her countenance ever betrayed her latent desire for his contact. He knew now that she had craved his touch for many years. He knew this because she had confessed it to him both in and out of the bedroom. He lifted her hands to him and kissed each one gently, before starting his stroking once again.

As he focused on the spaces between her fingers, his mind still couldn't get at exactly what she was trying to remind him of. He had confessed to her so many secrets on the night that they had sat back to back and hashed out their issues and professed their love. He looked at her and gave a slight shrug indicating that she needed to fill in the boxes. She was good at that. It's as though he was a crossword and only she, and she alone, was able to decipher the clues to solve him.

She nodded and sniffed. "You told me that there was nothing I could tell you that would change how you feel about me. Was that the truth Bobby?" Her eyes searched his.

He nodded decisively and she lay back on the pillow, letting go of his hands, and started to talk. He listened with bated breath.

"Frank was waiting for me outside the plaza one evening; it had been a really cold winter's day. I noticed his teeth were chattering. He said he just wanted a cup of coffee and to talk about how you were doing. I knew I should refuse, but he wanted to talk about you. You hadn't returned my calls in weeks. And Frank…he seemed to know just which carrot to dangle to lure me in.

Bobby knew that Frank was good at pushing just the right buttons. That's how he'd got him to help out Donnie. "Go on." He commanded more than encouraged.

"So I took him to a diner. We each got a coffee and a burger and fries, but we both just picked at them. Then we started to talk." Her eyes glazed over as she recounted that evening.

* * *

><p><strong>Flashback<strong>

"So what about your brother Frank?" Alex asked. She was strangely annoyed that he hadn't taken off his acrylic black skull cap once he got inside the warm diner. It made his teeth look even blacker.

"Well I was hoping you could tell me about my brother," he replied. His eyes attempted confidence, but he was a shell of a man.

"Well I don't work with Goren any more. He's on suspension for what he did at Tates. Have you heard from Donnie?" she added quickly.

Frank shook his head. "The kid hasn't called me back. Wait, Bobby got suspended for that?"

"Without pay, it's been months. He didn't tell you?" She was surprised.

"No he didn't tell me. I haven't seen him since then. But you still see him right, I mean you and he are…close."

Eames shook her head. "I haven't seen him in weeks." She tried to stay businesslike, but it upset her all the same.

"So he shut you out too huh? He's good at that our Bobby. You know he…he wants nothing to do with me anymore. He got angry the last time I saw him – real angry. He said some stuff. It's kind of why I came to see you."

"Well, I'm sure he had good reason for that Frank." She wasn't going to believe anything Frank said, and she let him know it with a searing look.

He picked at a soggy fry."Yeah, it makes sense that you'd be loyal to him. When he came to my apartment to try to find Donne, he practically bit my head off when I mentioned you." Even as he said the words, Eames knew exactly what he was doing. Frank Goren, like his brother, was a master manipulator. The difference was that Frank did it for his own gain, and Bobby did it for the good of society.

"I'm listening." Eames gave him nothing more. She concealed how desperately she wanted to know.

"My brother was angry – no furious. So I told him he should just…I don't know, go home and… well - take care of you." He cast his eyes down to his burger.

"I gather that's a paraphrase of what you actually said," she said with a little snark.

"Yeah well, he got rough with me then. He got violent. He'd never done that before. He wanted to know where Donnie was. I truly didn't know where he was. I would have told him if I knew. " Frank paused to take a sip of coffee, gauging her reaction. A police siren raced by and she watched it pass.

She wanted to defend Bobby, but she deliberately maintained her poker face. Even if Frank was lying through his stained teeth, she was yearning for information about Robert O Goren. She'd always craved it, but especially now when he'd ejected her so abruptly and resoundingly from his life.

Frank continued, "So then he found a crack pipe in my apartment and he said that that was it between him and me as far as he was concerned. He told me that what had happened to us as kids was just too bad, but it was over."

Frank paused, observing her reaction."We had a hard time of it growing up Bobby and me. I don't know how much he told you... " Again he waited for her to say something. And again, she didn't give him an inch. He looked down at his plate. "But he said that it was time to let it go – let me go. He said that I was a loser and that he didn't want to be my brother anymore."

She rolled her eyes and he caught it.

"What, you don't believe me? Let me tell you his exact words then without '_paraphrasing'_ as you put it." His voice had a touch of contempt. "He said he was done with me - that I couldn't contact him anymore. He said if he heard I was on a bridge ready to jump, that he'd listen for the splash." Frank stopped talking. His eyes looked dead. She wondered for a moment if he could be telling the truth.

"My brother wants nothing to do with me. My son wants nothing to do with me, and nor does his mother. My girlfriend OD'd. My mother's dead. I have no one, and I need to get clean, and I need you to help me."

Her humanity pushed up to the surface, overwhelming her detective's judgment. She reached for the hand of the brother of the man she loved, and placed it over his. Tears formed in his eyes, and he dropped his head in a way that reminded her of Bobby. He was desperate. "I'm sorry about your girl Frank." She had seen her once, on the day Bobby had given his brother his overcoat. "Just how do you think I can help you get clean?"

He reached into his pocket and handed her a tattered brochure. She picked it up and read _'From Past to Present to Peace Rehabilitation Facility'._ It was a 28-day program in Vermont. She quickly located the table of prices $15 000 for the minimum care 28 day program.

He interrupted as she read. "I know this is my last chance. I can't do outpatient - it doesn't work for me. I need to do it away from New York – away from everything here. I need to get my brother back; I need to get my son back; I need to get my health back; I need to get my life back."

All she heard was 'I', 'I', 'I'. She didn't look at him as she thumbed through the brochure. "Frank, it says you need family members to come along for the counseling."

"Well that's where you'd come in. You know enough about my family to just…listen, don't you?" That was his hook to reel her in. It's no doubt he was sincere in his desire to get clean, but he knew no other way to function other than trying to scam her. He could obviously tell how deep her feelings for his brother really flowed.

She eyed him again, and he saw her vulnerability. He didn't hesitate to exploit it. "I'd pay you back every cent. And if you wouldn't take it, I'd pay you back by getting clean and making it up to my brother. He's a good man. I never told him how good. I never thanked him for looking after Mom. I never told him…." He didn't finish the sentence. Eames figured it was probably going to be about love. Frank both looked and sounded sincere, and just now, the look in his eyes could have belonged to his little brother's.

"I don't have this kind of money Frank, even if I did I…"

"I don't want cash from you, you know - if that's what you're thinking. The center could take payment directly. I talked to them. They'd be willing to take me." He looked so desperate, and his hands were shaking as though this were going to be his last stand. He was Bobby's brother. He wasn't asking for money exactly. He was a desperate junkie, reaching out for help.

She sighed. "I need time to think Frank. I want to call this place and find out about the program. I can't make any promises, and I certainly can't attend any of your counseling sessions. I could approach Bobby."

"God please don't Detective Eames - Alex. I'd rather you walk away now and forget I ever came to you than tell him. He'd kill me for real. Maybe in a few months, when I've been clean for a while, we could tell him then. He might forgive me if I'm clean."

Eames regarded him. She should have just walked away, but she didn't and she couldn't. In the days that followed, she called the center. She paid for his program, on the condition that he didn't ever ask her for anything again. She checked on him for the first eight days, but didn't speak to him directly. The center asked her to drop in for a session, but she didn't. She knew that it wouldn't be right for anyone but Bobby to tell her about the Goren family history. She tried to call her still suspended partner, but he never called her back – not once. On the tenth day, she received Frank's letter at One Police Plaza.

_**Dear Alex,**_

_**I know I swore all contact would be over and done with, but I have to meet with you just one last time. It's the only way I can resolve this. You know where I am.**_

_**Frank Goren**_

_**P.S. Please don't tell Bobby. He already wishes me dead.**_

She called Vermont two days later with the vague notion of going up to see him. He had already checked himself out. He hadn't even lasted two weeks. The program was non-refundable.

**End of Flashback**

* * *

><p>After she had finished her tale, it was Bobby's turn to respond. He had reacted with facial expressions and restless body movements, but he hadn't said a word. He knew enough not to interrupt the flow of a recount. He got upfrom his chair, and poured a glass of water, and offered it to her. She looked apprehensive as she drank it. He finished the rest, he was parched, and set the glass down – then he adjusted the bed so she was almost upright. He sat down beside on the mattress. He found himself surprisingly calm. He had feared something worse than this, something that would tear them apart. They would be OK he knew. She was only trying to help, and he had manipulated her goodness, and her bank account.<p>

"I'm sorry he got to you. But I'm glad you helped him Eames. God knows I couldn't."

"You did everything you could for him Bobby. It was the drugs. You couldn't fight them for him."

He nodded and the dread permeated his insides and throat. He looked at her, wanting to know. "Why didn't you tell me before now."

"Oh Bobby. I had already lost you, and I knew you would use it as an excuse never to talk to me again. It was selfish of me! I almost told you when we were in the elevator after Frank had died – you remember? But you were so shell-shocked; it wasn't the right time. You had other things that needed your focus; it just seemed so minor. I didn't want you to have to repeat to you the things he had said. I knew there couldn't be much truth to them. Then you were under suspicion of killing Frank and Nicole; I knew you couldn't take that news from me – not then.

He said nothing. He was ashamed that some of what Frank had told her was true. The last moments he'd had with his brother were far from his finest hour. "Why didn't you tell me afterwards then? At the funeral..or yesterday. Or anytime?"

"I knew you'd focus on the money, and insist on paying me back - you're probably thinking about the money as we speak. You had hospital bills, and funeral bills and months and months without pay. Telling you wouldn't have helped you Bobby; it would have only hurt you."

His rage came to the surface, needing an outlet. "Wouldn't have helped me?" He yelled in disbelief, he softened his voice when he saw her shrink back from his anger. "That's exactly what Dec said!." He whispered. He looked at her with anger, and felt ashamed of himself for it. He stood up from the bed and walked across the room to the door. She was right about the money.

Officer Adams knocked, hearing the yelling. "Everything OK in there Detective Eames?"

"Everything's fine!" They replied in almost exact unison. Their solidarity did not go unnoticed by either partner, nor did their words. Everything was most certainly not fine.

She started to babble. This was so unlike Eames, that he watched her in puzzlement. "I called to talk to you Bobby. I called you a hundred times. You never called me back. All I wanted to do was be there as your friend, and you wouldn't even let me do that. I was mad at you for a long time for not letting me, but I didn't want to cause you any more pain either. How could knowing that Frank failed one more time do anything but hurt you? I just wanted to protect you. I always just want to protect you Bobby. I want to defend you from the world, and I'm sorry if I go about it the wrong way I wanted to protect you from Nicole, from Brady, from Declan Gage, from your mother, from your brother from the world. I didn't always do it the right way, but I can't say I'm sorry because I can't help it. I can't help myself when it comes to you and this…instinct is only getting more intense the closer we get.

Her words sucked him a step or two closer, but didn't make it all the way to the bed. _"_Why Eames? I don't need to be protected."

"Why? Because you've taken care of everybody else all your life. Who was there to take care of you? Nobody. Nobody! There was just me and you wouldn't let me. You didn't stop me though. You won't stop me ever because I love you."

His heart melted with his anger. His felt the same protectiveness towards her. That's why he had shut her out, so he didn't have to burden her with his pain. He took the last few steps to the bed and sat down again on the edge, though he kept his back to her. He didn't want to run from her anymore. He spoke to her. "It was true what Frank told you, the part about if he jumped, I'd wait for the splash. I can't take that back. They were the last words I ever said to him, and I can never take that back. He splashed Eames, and I just waited."

"Yeah, but he didn't jump. Wallace pushed him. " She got up to kneel behind him and gripped his shoulders, and started to rub gently.

"She never would have done it wasn't for me." It was the truth.

She continued to massage his neck, and he groaned. "No Bobby. I will not accept your trying to take responsibility for her actions. She was a psychopath, but she's dead now. And I won't let her haunt you like this. Yes, they were harsh words to say to Frank, but he was a junkie. Your brother disappeared long ago. You can't take it back, but you can forgive yourself and I will help you do that. You are not going to let this eat you up for the rest of your life, you hear me Bobby. You're a good man. Even Frank wished he'd told you that. You loved each other, even if you couldn't say it."

He bent his head to his knees and put his face in his hands; his body wracked in a single sob of anguish. "Oh God Alex. When I lifted that sheet and saw my brother's dead face, it was the second worst moment of my life." He felt her arms wrap around his waist, and she pulled him back upright. He felt her warm lips press against his neck like CPR "You wanna know the worst moment?" He didn't wait for her answer. "It was when you were kidnapped and I had to crowbar open the trunk of the car. I yelled out 'body!'. When I lifted the sheet, I did it quick; I had to know. Then I found Amanda Hsin's deeply cut up young body, but I thought it would be yours…" He'd never told her that detail before. His body shook in another sob, but he fought it. He would never forget that young woman's name.

She squeezed his torso hard from behind and spoke into his hear. "I know Bobby. I listened to Jo inflict those cuts. I heard Amanda scream in agony all night, and beg for her mother and father, and her own death. It wasn't my fault, or your fault. Jo was a psychopath."

He could feel her life-giving heat even through his leather jacket. She shared his pain; it wasn't his alone - had never been his alone. She peppered the back of his head and neck with kisses. He liked having this koala on this back. It was a welcome change from the monkey that choked him. He turned his body to her and gazed into the eyes of the feminine miracle before him. There was no hesitation, no denial – just what he felt for her. He took her face and her hair in his hands and touched her lips with his, just for a few seconds. Her breath was hot and she was shaking. He kissed the tracks of her salty tears, letting her know with his lips that he had forgiven her for not telling him, and that he loved her too, and that he was sorry for not realizing the pain wasn't exclusively his. He finally drew back from the kiss just a little, and he finished by nudging her nose with his. His voice was surprisingly strong when he spoke to her. "Thank you for being my protector, but it's me that should be the one taking care of you."

"You do Bobby. You have. When have you not?"

"Plenty of times."

"Well I don't want to hear it. This is not a competition Bobby. I love you, and you said you loved me too."

"I do," he said smoothly and clearly, burning his gaze into her. Emotional honesty was so hard for him, but he was a quick study.

"You still do?" There was uncertainty in her voice.

"Yeah still. It's not the kind of love that goes away. I love you no matter what."

She looked so shakily happy with his response. She was still on her knees as she nodded. "Well, how about we protect each other. Would that work for you?" she asked, strengthening her own voice to match his.

He took her hand and placed it on her beating heart with his hands resting on top of it. "That would work for me." He suddenly leaned across and kissed her with such love, and engulfed his arms around her, embracing her strong, petite body. She let him encircle her like a lifebuoy, and his kisses quickly heated and turned to fervor, as his body remembered the last time he was above her on a bed. Abruptly, he pulled back in shock. He hadn't told her that their first encounter had not been private.

She was confused at his withdrawal. "What is it Bobby?"

He looked at her and let go of her waist. "Baby, there's something I've got to tell you now." He was surprised he had started calling her 'baby' lately, but it felt right to say it.

"Are you sure it can't wait Bobby? What we just talked about, it was big."

"It can't wait Alex. It's just as big." He saw from her expression that he was scaring her.

He reached over to the bedside table, and pulled out the remnants of the 'Great Expectations' book cover. It was still in the evidence bag, and he handed it to her.

"I found this in my bedroom the other day after you left; after we…spent the night together. It's a camera. Dryden put it there- that's why I went to Rikers to see him. He's been watching my bedroom for weeks."

"What? No Bobby!" The sudden revelation drew horror up to her features.

He reached out to stroke her face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't find it sooner - just one day sooner."

"But you don't think he's seen us, do you?"

Bobby heaved a sigh. "He's seen us. He sent me a text message with the details. That's why I smashed my phone."

"Oh my God Bobby. No! No! What did he say when you went there?" She looked to be in shock, and was shaking. He rubbed her arm and she jerked away..

"Well he hadn't seen it yet when I visited him. He'd only seen other stuff. Me walking naked from the shower I guess. I made him tell me about the video files, and he swore he'd remove them from whatever device he was using. That's why I went to Brownlow- to delete the footage. The camera was being transmitted to the college server."

"Did you watch it? Did you watch..us?"

"No, but I saw a few thumbnails. Enough to know what was there. I deleted it all." He could see that this didn't comfort her. "He was supposed to be in solitary confinement Eames; he wasn't supposed to have access to a computer. I thought I had it under control, but then you were poisoned…and there was nothing more I could do – not last night." He started to think aloud, and it spilled out much more quickly than his theories often did.

"It must be the corrections officer – Craven. He bent the rules when I assaulted Dryden, and asked me to buy him some cigars in return. And why is June Fletcher even allowed to visit after hours? Dryden's missing some teeth you know, and is being sodomized regularly. He had bruises on his face and hands. The officers must know something about it. This Craven guy mustn't have sent him to isolation or if he did, he supplied Dryden with a computer or a phone with internet access. Why the hell do they seem to have wireless internet in that place?" Bobby had had a lot of experience with corrupt corrections officers, both in Tates, at the smaller Brooklyn prison where he had worked his first case with Mike Logan. He remembered how the power and control had got into those officers' heads. Dryden was being abused in Rikers, and it was high time it was investigated – but Nichols and Wheeler would have to do it. As promised, Goren had washed his hands of David Dryden.

"Craven?" Did you say Craven? She asked.

"Yeah – a corrections officer. Why?"

"I know that name Bobby. Charles Craven. How old is he?"

"I don't know – pushing sixty." Bobby's curiosity was peaked. There were several pieces missing to this puzzle.

She continued, "I testified against him many years ago at an internal hearing. It was early in my career. In Vice, before I was married. Craven was an NYPD sergeant back then. I was undercover, but he didn't know it. He ordered his men to beat up a pimp. Granted, the guy was a lowlife, but they were cops. They shook him down for cash, and put him in hospital. I reported what I saw and he was forced to resign. I thought he got off lightly. Maybe he still has a beef with me, if it's the same guy."

"Oh you can bet it's the same guy Eames. A leopard doesn't change its spots."

"Oh God Bobby, was he watching us too. God knows how many people were – all the inmates by now?" She was so distraught, and he reached for her hand. "It was you and me Bobby. It was our night. Why did it have to be that night of all nights?" The tears were back in her eyes.

Bobby anger rose, and he and turned into Goren. "We'll get him Eames, and we'll get that video file. I promise you that. No one will see it if I can help it."

"I don't want you going to Rikers Bobby. You promised _me _that."

He nodded. He had promised her not to see Dryden, but Craven was a different story.

"Bobby, I'm not sure we can do this alone. As much as it kills me for anyone to know – to see it – we're going to have to tell Nichols and Wheeler. We can trust them. They'll be here soon. If we can't stop this from getting out, we could both be in some serious shit."

It wasn't like her to use bad language. "Yeah it wouldn't be good." That was a massive understatement. He knew it would be worse for her. It was hard enough to be a female police officer or detective, and only the strongest survived. This would be something she couldn't possibly live down, when he unfairly could. There had been innuendo about their partnership for years, but this would be much, much worse. "I think we need to tell Ross." He eyed her to gauge her reaction. They needed help with this.

She nodded slowly. "I think he might know about us anyway, Nichols and Wheeler too. But..."

"What?"

"Even if they could help us delete that video, our partnership would be over."

"Why? Everyone thinks we've been uh..at it for years."

"Yeah maybe, but it was never for sure. If we tell him, he'll have to act. I'm your senior partner Bobby; I outrank you. It's fraternization. Can you imagine? It would come up in every court case we'd have to testify in. In any other squad, they could just assign us another partner, but this is Major Case. It's an elite squad. There is no room for even the impression of impropriety."

She had a point. Bobby was well aware of Major Case's fraternization policy. How could he not be? It had been one of the barriers between them for all these years. If she didn't outrank him, it might not be an issue for staying in the same squad, but she did. He knew he was not likely to get a promotion to senior partner anytime soon. "OK, so we don't tell him outright. We hint like you said – I agree he probably knows about anyway. He intimated it to me yesterday." Bobby sighed as he looked at her concerned face. He had been alive for half a century. He was far too old to keep his relationship secret from the world for a sustained period of time. He had quashed his feeling for her for almost a decade. He couldn't hide it anymore. It was an absurd idea, and would only cause them stress.

On the other hand, he wasn't ready to give her up as a partner so suddenly either. But if he had to be forthcoming if just in his own mind, he had been observing himself since the Dryden case had started, and he really hadn't worked well with Eames. He couldn't predict just how being in an intimate relationship with her was going to affect their professional partnership. But so far, it had not been good. What would he do the next time a perp pulled out a gun on her? How would she react? This was something they were going to have to consider.

But his job, he loved it. It was his life, and his passion, and what he was good at. He'd felt desolate without it, and had fought so hard to get it back. It wasn't just the job though, it was her. Without her, would he even want to do it? The job had brought so many destructive people into their lives. They had done some good in the world, sure. But there were plenty of ways to do good.

If his job became an issue, he was going to call Logan back. Mike had once offered Bobby the opportunity to start up a private detective agency, and he'd declined without giving it a second thought, and wished him luck. Did Logan regret leaving the NYPD? He seemed to be doing well according to Wheeler. He knew Mike called her to look stuff up on the sly now and then. Shit, even Carver had gone into private practice. He would give him a call too if it came to leaving the force. There was always another bend in the road. One thing was certain, his integrity meant a lot to him, and he didn't want to lose it. He also didn't want to be the cause of damaging her career. Unlike him, the NYPD was still accepting of her.

"Bobby, what are you thinking?" She touched his shoulder, and he remembered she was there.

He realized he was pointing his lips to the left, then to the right. He must have gone off in one of his trances. "I don't like lying Eames. Throughout this case I've done things I've never done before; I've burned evidence; I've deleted evidence; I've stolen evidence - I took the book from your apartment when it was still a crime scene- It's just... I feel like all my actions.. It's just. It was beneath me."

She saw his uptight expression and gave him a seductive look. "Well, funny you should mention that 'cos that's exactly where I intend to be tonight."

"Huh?" For a smart guy, he wasn't following.

"Beneath you." She added to help him out a little.

He looked at her in surprise. She always had the ability to throw him for a loop and completely disarm him with her remarks. He decided to play along and mock his own self-pity. Her eyes shined in delight as she realized what he was up to. He lay down on his side on bed next to her, though he barely fit, and feigned a heartfelt confession. "Oh Eames! I've done so many bad things...you have no idea. I've made bad coffee and given it to you; I haven't held open the elevator doors for the other detectives; I've.. I've.." He touched one of her breasts with his hand. "I've f... f...fraternized with my senior partner – in my kitchen." He looked at her playfully, and he moved his hand to pinched her nose. She swatted his hand with a sharp slap. They both needed a break from the tension, and he so rarely attempted jokes. He might even be worse than Ross at it. Her light laughter faded quickly.

"Was that caught on tape too?" She was referring to their encounter in the kitchen.

He sighed - play time was over for now. "No. I went through my apartment, and yours, with a scanner. There were no other cameras – just my bedroom."

She nodded in understanding. He thought she was doing well not to freak out about this. She was amazing. She started to stroke his stubbled chin; it was a move he was starting to love; it was so tender in its simplicity.

"Look. We're not perfect Bobby. We're only human. It's hard to know the right thing to do when a case gets personal. If we're going to come clean about our new relationship, then I'll also probably have to tell Ross about my appointments with Billy Gatehouse."

"No Eames! You can't do that." He was loyal to her over his job.

"Why? Dryden already knows about it, doesn't he?" She picked up Frank's letter, and read aloud Dryden's note on the back. _"You will thank me for this when you realize the full extent of what's she's done."_

His voice projected in earnest. "Eames I'm absolutely certain he doesn't know about Gatehouse. He never could have resisted telling me something like that. He knows about the letter to Frank; he knows that we slept together; he knew that your apartment was poisoned, but that's it. That's all he has. He definitely does not know about you and Gatehouse. That will only ever be between you and me." He touched her face, coaxing her gaze towards his. They were lying on their sides face-to-face.

"I can't let you lie for me anymore."

His eyes flashed with annoyance. That was for him to decide. "Well if you tell Ross that, then I'll have to tell him that I burned the diary pages. What then? We'll both be working in McDonald's."

She grinned. "You wouldn't last a day in such a controlled environment – though you would look cute in the uniform." She added seriously "You can't compromise the case any more Bobby. I won't allow it."

"Why not? It's not going to affect the outcome.

"Because it's beneath you. That's why not," she answered.

She led him into that one. "Well that's exactly where I want to be tonight - beneath you." His eyes now flashed with lust. He had this woman and he wasn't ever going to let her go if he could help it. Yes, he wanted her beneath him tonight, and frankly, he intended to have her at every other angle too. If only the doctors would let her out today. He felt a little guilty for the direction in which his blood, and his thoughts, were rushing. And for wanting to meddle with her before she had completely recovered. He leaned over to kiss her, this time with tongue. But she swatted him back again.

"Focus Goren. Let's get this straight before the others arrive."

They went into Goren and Eames mode- thick as thieves only they were on a bed. They decided to hint to Ross, Nichols and Wheeler about the potential content of the video files, and answer honestly if the matter was pressed. Goren would admit he had punched Dryden when he had confronted him about the camera and that Craven, who must be involved somehow, had not reported the assault. They would need to check if Dryden had been sent to isolation after that.

They both felt it was understandable that Goren had gone to Brownlow to delete the files. Ross would just have to take action as he saw fit. They were not going to tell him about Eames' relationship with Gatehouse or the burnt diary pages. At length, they discussed Craven, June Fletcher, and their potential involvement in pushing Dryden's buttons. They even briefly discussed progress on their current stolen art case, though there was little to talk about. She only let him have one smooch at the end of their conversation.

"C'mon Goren. This is serious."

"You think I don't know that Eames. I think my head might roll on this one. I'm already on the brink in this squad."

"Then my head will roll with you Bobby. We could roll our heads all the way to Mexico or Guatemal and retire. You said you wanted to see the pyramids." He was going to give her a short lecture on the historical inaccuracy of the sacrificial beheading in 'Apocalytpo', which they had watched together on their couch not long ago. Fortunately for her, his bladder had other ideas. He got up reluctantly from the hospital bed, and it groaned. Before he reached the door, he turned back to her. "If we have to quit and get another job – well we will, just as long as we have each other, right?" She smiled back. He had his answer. He turned back to the closed hospital roomed door and pulled it open to find himself face-to-face with his captain.

He surveyed them and nodded. "Detectives – good you're both here. I think you should sit down Goren." He looked even more serious than usual. Goren obeyed, but turned the chair to face his boss.

"The lab tests came back on the poison in your apartment. There were large amounts of saccinolycholine in some of the alcohol bottles." Ross was never one to beat around the bush.

Goren and Eames were stunned. Saccinolycholine was the paralytic substance Nicole Wallace had used to kill not only Thaler, the diamond thief, but also Frank Goren. Declan Gage had also claimed that Nicole tried to use it on him, but was interrupted before she could jab him. Ross was aware of all of this, but barely let them process their shock.

"Nichols and Wheeler won't be coming to our pow-wow this morning. They're on their way to Rikers. David Dryden's body was found hanging from a rope in the prison laundry last night. Looks like a suicide. We've got some talking to do."

* * *

><p>ADA June Fletcher stared at her perfectly manicured red nails as she waited for her call on her no name cell to be answered. Her delicately perfumed hard body was clad in red Victoria's secret lingerie. She was perched on her $8000 leather lounge suite that a past conquest, a naive but cute number cruncher, had purchased for her. It felt all the more comfortable knowing that she hadn't paid for it herself.<p>

"Yeah Fletch." He knew her number by now.

"David Dryden hung himself - suicide."

"Shit, really? That's great news. Well done!"

"Yeah. I thought you'd like that. So I assume this is over then."

"Yeah baby. We're all over. Unless you want to start paying again."

"Screw you Penn!"

"Anytime Fletch - five hundred an hour. You might have to wait a while though. I'm going to Riyadh. I'll be out of the game after I get back."

"Well, bon voyage you evil motherfucker."

"Yeah, I love you too Fletch. Just keep your mouth shut and I'll do the same."

"I don't think the Saudi princes are going to like that somehow."

"Always the bitch, aren't you?"

"I guess that's what we have in common."

She ended the call without saying goodbye and breathed out. It was over; it was finally fucking over, and it had gone no further. She didn't like the direction that this had been heading in; she'd lost the upper hand.

She reached for a glass of Ribera De Duero Spanish red wine, and sniffed before taking a sip. She put it down and searched through her phone until she found the file she was looking for, and pressed 'play'. It was time for some stress relief. June watched as female hands that were not her own rubbed Goren's strong bare buttocks, which were pumping and grinding up and down. The blond chipmunk was chanting his name in ecstasy - clearly still getting used to his colossal cock. June could make out his masculine grunting as he moved and penetrated deeply into his lover. Their sounds were on a different wavelength from the soft music that was playing in the background. In the flickering candlelight of his bedroom, his long stretching muscles could be detected under the movements of his skin; he was magnificent - a fine thoroughbred horse.

She skipped to another scene. His cock was longer and wider than that Scandinavian whore Zachary Penntoff's, and the detective's arms and shoulders were stronger. But it was more than that, Robert Goren understood how to treat a woman in bed. He was clearly a seasoned veteran in the art of lovemaking, and not merely fucking, a woman. He kissed and touched and tongued. He seemed to use all his senses, and gave so much of himself to please his partner. June knew he was the exactly the kind of lover she desired and needed right now. She slid one manicured hand down into her underwear, and started to fantasize, never moving her gaze from the screen. She could genuinely comprehend the now deceased Dryden's obsession for this man, and it had been an unexpected bonus that he'd emailed this video to her before he offed himself. Who'd have thought she'd have something in common with the pimply psycho? They both wanted this man, but she didn't have to clutch his fucking suit coat while sucking her thumb in a jail cell to enjoy him.

She continued to watch his performance, and not for the first time either. If only she had staked her claim on Goren a little sooner. This was clearly the first time he'd bedded his partner, and it was only two nights ago. Her head told her that she should leave it alone. She was lucky to get away with everything she'd done thus far. Besides, they'd break up eventually when their Captain figured it out. She would just have to to patient and bide her time before she got her man. Until then, she could satisfy herself quite well by watching this over and over and over.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> If you don't remember who Zachary Penntoff is, he was William Gatehouse's gigolo friend. He came in as a witness, and was interviewed by Goren and Eames, way back in Chapter 2. He was also at Gatehouse's funeral.


	20. Birds Of A Feather

**A/N This chapter carries a warning for bad language and themes such as male prostitution.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>The Changing Fortunes of Zachary Pentoff<strong>

After Fletch hung up on him, Zachary 'Penn' Pentoff sent a text message to his contact in Bahrain. A return message confirmed that he would be picked up from the airport in a limo that would meet his plane. He was flying not business, but first class. Penn breathed a sigh of relief. He felt as though he'd expended too much energy trying to organize his exit from the country. The truth is that with Dryden now dead, he maybe didn't even have to leave. However, there was no way he was going to try to renegotiate the terms again. A week's worth of the most debasing and humiliating whoreing was going to garner him a cool $150 000. This would be enough to pay his debts and maybe start a new life on the Costa del Sol in Spain. He could even take a few months off and maybe even try to do something else with his life.

He wasn't too nervous. This was his second trip to the Middle East. Last time he had gone to Bahrain or 'Middle East Lite' as it was known. This time he would have to cross the border to Riyadh into the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, one of the most conservative countries in the world. But it was a request at one of the members of the extensive Saudi royal family, and he would be under their protection.

His first trip to Bahrain had been with his friend Billy almost two years ago. They had been best friends back then. Although his friend's passport read 'William Michael Gatehouse', he was always definitely a Billy in personality. Penn remembered fondly how excited they'd been about the prospect of earning $500 000 between them for giving up a week of their lives to perform "The Penn and Billy Show' as they had dubbed it. Even in his very best week in New York, Penn's all-time record was $19 000 in a seven day period. And his best week had been a very, very long time ago.

Penn was blonde, tall with well-defined muscles and he likened himself to Thor. Billy was darker, a little taller and lankier and was more subtly toned. Billy whole body and face was so artfully designed, that it almost hurt to look at him. Adding to that, there was an air of tender vulnerability around him, which drove the clients wild. They were a two-man deal, but Penn secretly resented that Billy was never the supporting act. Still, his friend's prominence made the week a little easier on Penn. Billy had scarcely been able to walk by the end of the job, and had to go on antibiotics when they'd got back to New York. The trip had changed Billy a little, and changed the type of clients he'd accept from then on. Their friendship had never been quite the same after their time in Bahrain. Billy had sworn he'd never do the same trip again either, no matter what the payment or how much Penn begged him.

Penn wasn't honestly looking forward to doing that depraved shit again, but it was only a week. What's a week in the life of a man? At least he was still alive. He grabbed his bags, and gave his apartment a once over. He didn't tell anyone but Fletcher of his plans to leave town. He didn't want the loan sharks to get him first.

**7 weeks earlier **

**Apartment of William Gatehouse**

"Geez Billy! You know it's been tough for me. I've lost a lot of clients thanks to Lehman fucking Brothers. People are cutting back on my services left, right, and center."

"Well maybe you should be less picky, and stop using Wall Street types for your bread and butter."

"What? And fuck some of the mutants you touch! I really don't get you Billy; you refuse come back to Bahrain where you'd make more in a week than you will in a year touching those wilder beasts you call clients."

"And I don't get you Penn. How could you go back there after last time? It was human torture! You're better than that. We both are."

"Oh that' it isn't it? You're above all that now. You're above me," he accused.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Penn sensed a softening his friend's tone.

"You have to come. I need you." He begged. He'd always been frustrated that he could never seduce his friend. Billy wasn't gay, even though he could talk the talk and walk the walk whereas Penn preferred men for the most part. Though in the end, they would both fuck just about anyone willing to pay.

"No Penn. This is non-negotiable!

"Too damn right it's non-negotiable. I've already taken a 10% deposit. That's $50 000 Billy!"

"So give it back."

"I can't give it back. I would if I could. It's gone. It's fucking gone – all of it and then some!"

"All of it? You gambled it didn't you? Exactly how much do you owe Penn?"

Penn ignored his correct assumption about how he had lost the money. "There ain't enough clients in five boroughs to fuck my way out of this debt. I'm in a real bind here - a fucking quandary OK? Look you'll get your half of the deposit when we get back. There'll be $450 000 to play with. The second we arrive back on American soil, we could fucking retire! You know you want to."

"Sure Billy – we'll retire at 36 years on less than a quarter of a mil. Hey, maybe on the way back we could stop at one of the Casinos in Macau and 'play with' it. We could double our money – then we could go to Florida!" This was the superior tone that Penn hated to hear in his friend. It was all he had been hearing from him lately.

"Screw you _friend_," Penn spat back with venom. "They'll put a bullet in me sooner or later you know," he added.

Billy shook his head in disgust. "No Penn. Screw fucking you! These are _your_ problems and you want _me_ to be degraded and humiliated just so you can keep playing cards? You're not my friend, but I am still yours. That's why I won't do this. It's called enabling, and I don't intend to keep enabling you. You'll just repeat the same pattern again and again, and I'm not going to be around to watch you fall. You'll just have to get someone else to whore for you."

"You don't think I tried to get someone else? It's you the Saudis want. I'm just the sidekick. There can be no substitute; they made that clear."

"Not my problem Penn. You didn't ask me before you took the money, and you spent my fucking cut anyway."

Penn looked across as his friend who was pacing around the living room and the anger left his voice. He addressed his friend in earnest. "I cannot fuck with these guys Billy. They're too well connected; you know that. If I can't refund the money; they'll kill me- that is if my creditors don't get me first." Penn knew it to be true, and he was scared. Billy was the only solution. He had to keep at him. "Look I only came to you as a last resort. I've been trying to get the money together to refund the Saudis' deposit. I've been working my ass off, but I have to keep paying off loans."

Billy put his hands on his hips, and looked Penn in the eye. He resembled a demi-god clad in faded designer jeans and a long white V-neck. "You keep losing you mean. Borrowing, losing, fucking, borrowing, losing – what the hell are you doing with your life Penn?" He whacked him lightly on the side of the head to knock some sense into him.

Penn fired up at the condescending touch. "You superior son-of-a bitch! You got all these insights from a shrink you're screwing?"

Billy raised his voice to match his friend's. It was dripping with sarcasm. "Oh well in that case, since you've put it so nicely, let me write you a check right now buddy, $50 000 was it?" Penn lunged at him, pushing him onto the couch, as Billy put out his arms to protect himself. It was on. Just as the scuffle between the long-time friends had started, there was a knock at the door. Billy stopped first, and Penn let him get up off the couch. But this was not over.

Penn stalked to the bathroom to splash water on his face. He could hear Billy and the visitor's conversation as he did so.

"Who are you?" demanded Billy.

"I'm uh Dryden. David Dryden from Brownlow College. I'm a friend of Emaline Moses."

Penn heard his friend's voice soften then.

"Is she OK?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, it's just well... she told me that you're allergic to bee venom and I've got some information about this trial. It's free and will likely cure you of…"

"I told her I wasn't interested."

"If you'll take a minute to hear me out Mr Gatehouse..."

"Look will you just get lost? How the hell did you get in this building anyway? Did Emaline tell you where I live? I'm going to have to call her about this." Billy's irritation was clearly escalating.

"I don't think you want to call her Mr Gatehouse. You see I'm just an acquaintance of Mrs Moses. I work with her husband. – Professor Brian Moses – I don't believe the two of you have been formally introduced, have you? "Dryden's voice suddenly went from shy to sly.

Billy went silent for a moment.

David's voice maintained its softness, but there was an underlying anger. "I know exactly what you do for a living Gatehouse, and I know about your meetings with_ Mrs._ Moses. I wonder what her husband or children would think about your little trysts."

Penn left the bathroom to get a better vantage point for his eavesdropping. He could tell that the last comment had gotten to Billy.

Billy was exasperated. It was not the first time someone had threatened to expose him to a spouse. "Just what exactly do you want from me Dryden?"

"I told you. I want you to be in the allergy trial. We have a hard time finding subjects with bee sting allergies."

Billy fired back. "Bullshit! That's not why you came here. What is it you want? Is it money? A fuck?"

"No.. I'm not interested in…"

"Well then get the fuck outta here. When you decide whatever it is you want, we'll talk – but not here at my own apartment. And don't even think about fucking with the Moses family, you hear me!"

Penn was impressed as he heard the apartment door slam. Billy's new-found aggressiveness today was astounding. He was normally a pussycat. Maybe he really was screwing a shrink. Now that Billy's anger was redirected, Penn attempted to get back to his agenda.

"Who was that?" Penn asked, acting like he hadn't just been about to kick his ass before the weird guy had knocked on the door.

Billy's voice was calmer, but all the more menacing for it. "Another fuckwit trying to guilt me out of my money. I threw him out Penn, and you know what? I'm throwing you out too. You physically attack me in my own fucking apartment? I want you to leave Penn. I'm not going anywhere with you, and I'm not lending you one red cent." Billy's hands were trembling.

Penn was surprisingly calm and this command. His mind was already working on a plan B. He needed to catch up to this Dryden fellow. "If that's the way you want it Billy, then I guess I'll see you in hell," he retorted brusquely.

Penn walked out of his friend's apartment, closing the door quietly behind him. Penn never saw his old friend again. Billy Gatehouse had been buried in a closed casket.

Penn had caught up with Dryden who was still lurking outside the apartment building, and had taken his card. They'd met at a café a week later. Dryden needed money; Penn needed money; Billy had money. Over the next week or two Dryden took some surveillance photos of Billy and Emaline Moses. Gatehouse seemed to care for her as more than just a client, and threatening to tell her children that their mother was seeing a prostitute would be something to hold over Billy's head. It became apparent to Penn that Dryden was developing some kind of sexual obsession with his former friend. When Penn had offered him a hand-job to win over his loyalty, Dryden had turned him down. His eye was clearly on another prize.

Penn was almost offended that even this sorry son-of-a bitch preferred Billy, but they agreed to work together all the same. Dryden booked a hotel and invited Billy for sex in exchange for continued silence about the Moses situation. Dryden planned to bring along a laptop, as well as a sealed bee box, which he would use to intimidate Billy into transferring at least $50 000 into various bank accounts – one of which was Penn's Swiss account.

Penn wondered if Dryden would also insist that Billy fuck him; he never did find out. Penn had played his small part. He'd distracted the front desk clerk after Dryden had assured him that the security camera system had been scrambled. Once Dryden slinked passed with the bees, Penn had high-tailed out of there to a nearby coffee shop where he'd checked his bank accounts every five minutes. After several hours, there was still no record of a deposit in his account.

He went home in frustration and waited for a call. None came. Something had gone wrong, and he would just have to wait to see if this Academic little fucker had double crossed him. He went home, but could not sleep. He never called Dryden; he never called Billy. He didn't dare. The next day he heard about a dead body being found in the 333 motel in Queens. He knew it would be Billy's. He hadn't wanted his friend to die. He'd just wanted the money to pay back the deposit to his contact in Bahrain. Penn was now not only penniless, he was also in deep shit with his loan sharks, and the Saudi Royal family. To top it off, he was an unwitting accessory to murder.

At first Zach was devastated by his friend's deat, but his grief was soon eclipsed by Dryden's failure to cough up the money. He didn't know if Dryden was holding out on him or if he simply hadn't succeeded in getting it transferred. Either way, he had to know.

Penn deflected attention off himself by walking straight in Major Case at One Police Plaza. It hadn't been difficult to set up a solid alibi in his line of work. Besides, his sorrow for his friend's death was real. It was clear that the two intriguing detectives assigned to the case were not at the top of their game that day. The tension could have been cut with a knife, and the female detective had actually stormed out of the interview in disgust. Penn had preferred chatting with the ruggedly handsome male detective anyway –Goren was his name. He'd place a bet that that guy was packing more than just a gun! Penn had cheekily hinted that he'd consider taking him as a client – even made a little jab about his weight. That made the detective smile, and seemed to disarm him a bit. The conversation soon went from Gatehouse's murder to their line of work - types of clients, what made people tick. The detective had been almost obsessively interested in the psychological side of things. He'd told Goren that his favorite types of clients were _single women aged twenty to fifty who are too busy with their careers to have a relationship. _ That was June Fletcher alright!

Dryden had finally called the night before Billy's funeral, and wanted to meet to discuss things. They'd agreed on a time and place after the funeral. Dryden was silent on the issue of the money; Penn understood that he would just have to wait. Shit, at least their meeting would be in a public place. Who knew what the murderer was capable of? Throughout the phone call, Dryden seemed curiously interested in the fact that Penn had chatted to the detectives working the case. Dryden had pumped him for details, and Penn had relayed them.

The same imposing detective had arrested Dryden at the funeral the next day, before Penn had the chance to meet and discuss the money. Penn understood that he was now an accessory to a murder, and that one word from Dryden would reveal that fact. Penn comprehended that he might even go to jail if the minor part he'd played was ever found out. Even if he avoided a sentence, Penn knew it would destroy his reputation in New York City. He was already struggling to live in the manner in which he'd been accustomed, so used Billy's funeral as an opportunity to pick up his old clients. He needed money fast. The Middle East deal was by no means certain.

It wasn't coke or the designer clothes that ate through his money; it was gambling. A few years back, a client of his hired him to play strip poker every other week, and he learned to play the card game pretty well – too well. On an occasional night, they would go to clubs and play poker for real. Penn was good, but to be really good required a preternatural gift that he didn't possess. He'd often lose up to $10 000 in a single night. On those nights he lamented that should have just stuck with fucking, where his real talent lay.

He followed Dryden's arrest in the news absolutely petrified that the shithead would give him up. He didn't dare try to contact him. The only positive thing to happen in this period was that his negotiations with the Saudis were looking up. They had sympathized with the news of Billy's death, and said they would contact him soon. He knew that if he could just hold Dryden off for a little while, he'd be home free. Fortunately, lady luck who had so often deserted him in his poker games, finally came back to him - and promptly asked him to go down on her.

He'd been watching the news and checking online for updates at all hours of the day and night. Suddenly there she was - June Fletcher – now an Assistant District Attorney. It had been almost three years since Penn had seen her, but she looked good – as hot as ever in a buttoned up way. She owned the TV cameras like nobody's business as she told the world that Dryden had confessed and agreed to a life sentence. She had always liked being on camera, having insisted on being filmed at least five out of the ten or so times she'd paid him to fuck her. The vain bitch! Hell, they were both vain. And birds of a feather fuck together.

June had never met Billy Gatehouse, but gleaned straight away that Penn certainly knew him, and probably had something to do with his death. However, since Dryden had confessed, she didn't press the issue.. Penn didn't have to give her full disclosure of what he'd done or even threaten to blackmail her. The young ADA was well aware of what Penn had on her, and that he could use that information to destroy her career. Still, Penn was smart enough to see that she wasn't able to completely relinquish all control over the situation, and he threw her a bone. Well – several bones actually, and totally free of charge. Funny, she didn't insist on a camera this time.

In exchange, she had visited Dryden in Rikers and subtly catered to his every sick whim. They reached an agreement that Dryden was to tell her, and only her, of any change in his story that might affect the case. She never mentioned Penn to Dryden; he seemed to have forgotten all about him, and had already forgotten about Billy Gatehouse too. Dryden showed no remorse whatsoever. All his focus was now centered unrelentingly on Detective Goren – the new apple of his eye. Penn strongly suspected that Goren might be the apple of June's eye too, though he wisely kept his trap shut on the matter.

Every time Penn fucked the insatiable bitch, she would discuss Dryden with him post-coital. She couldn't help but run her mouth in the afterglow. It was amusing because she was like Fort Knox at any other time. June told him that she got Dryden to comply and to keep his story consistent by doing him special favors, such as sending out love letters, and procuring Goren's suit coat. She'd confessed to Penn that she was worried about Dryden's deteriorating mental health. She was also concerned that he might be capable of doing just about anything to feed his obsession. June was fairly confident that the prisoner was suicidal, and that just a tiny little tap would push him over the edge.

Penn had no doubt that the strident slut would achieve her aim in short measure. She was a cold-blooded viper that one, but if she persuaded Dryden to take his own life, it would be the perfect outcome for all involved. He wasn't surprised when she'd pulled it off, and a hanging no less. Chalk up another victory for New York City's finest ADA!

As he boarded the plane and settled into his roomy first class seat with a class of champagne, he reflected that he was glad to be going far away from June Fletcher. Fortunately, he hadn't pushed her too far with his threats, and she hadn't turned on him yet. That was one thing he did not want, and that was yet another reason he did not plan to come back to New York anytime soon.

**PENN TAKES A GAMBLE**

After a smooth landing, the limo picked him up on time as he made the trip into Bahrain city center. It was still daylight and The Kingdom was bustling. Outside the tinted window, Penn noticed all the Indians, Pakistanis, and other nationalities, who overshadowed the locals. The large posters of the King, some of them featuring a giant parrot, had freaked him out on his last visit, but this time he felt more refreshed, despite the oppressing heat. This was the Vegas of the Middle East in a way. It was a kind of refuge for those from more traditional and stringent Arab nations. They came for the weekend seeking alcohol, prostitutes, and R&R. There were hookers here from all over the world, even in established hotels. Whether or not some of them were being held against their will was not really his concern. He was here to collect the money, which would set him up for retirement. The Kingdom was not pretty, but it was thrumming with money and opportunities for a handsome blond blue-eyed American. Of course, this is not where he intended to stay. In seven days, he'd be free. He kind of wished he could remain here in Bahrain for the week, but the next day his limo would be headed across the border on the King Fahd causeway to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, arguably the most conservative country in the world. He knew that he was going to be entertaining some very elite princes, and their cousins, over the next week.

That night, his last as a free man, he reflected how fortunate he was that the Saudis backed off from their stipulations when Penn informed them Billy Gatehouse had been murdered. As far as they knew, it was hardly his fault. Penn explained that he could not refund their $50 000 deposit because Billy's bank accounts had been frozen pending the murder investigation. Penn had insisted that he was willing to come immediately with a replacement who looked just like Billy, or if they'd prefer a refund then they'd just have to wait a little longer. They'd invited him over alone, offering him far less than they had before.

The following morning as Zachary Pentoff's limousine quickly motored across the border from Bahrain to KSA, he became nervous for the first time. As his companions spoke in Arabic around him, his gut told him that he was in danger. If he could have understood their language, he wouldn't have liked what they were saying.

His passport was confiscated under the guise of procuring an exit visa. As the passport left his hands, Penn realized he'd made a serious mistake. The truth struck this Thor-like man like a lightning bolt; there would be no exit visa for him, and certainly no villa in southern Spain. He had been trafficked.

Zachary Pentoff had played his final hand, and it was aces over eights.

* * *

><p><strong>East Chisolm Memorial<strong>

Goren was grateful that he was sitting down, as he was left reeling from Ross's news that Dryden had been found hanging in laundry at Rikers. Even more shocking was that he had laced the alcohol bottles in Eames' apartment with saccinolycholine. It was the same substance that Nicole Wallace had used on his brother - that with a little push out the window - had taken his life. Goren felt as though she had struck him yet another blow - this time from beyond the grave. He suddenly felt Eames grasp his shoulder decisively, pulling him back to the present. He felt her presence, and it allowed him to channel his focus on his captain.

"Saccinolycholine?" Goren half-whispered.

Ross nodded; he knew the significance. "How did he know to use that of all things?" Ross's question was almost rhetorical. Goren passed his boss the note from Frank, and watched Ross's reaction as he read both sides of the letter. "Christ!" was all he could utter. This was certainly personal, Dryden had definitely planned to kill Eames one way or another.

Goren looked behind him at Eames then. She was perched on the edge of her bed in a similar stunned state. Goren felt relief that Dryden was dead, but worried that it was not over yet. He also wondered how in the hell had she not taken a sip from one of those bottles over the past two weeks. It was a goddamn miracle that they'd so often gone out for drinks after work, and that she had left his place so late on so many nights lately.

Goren took control of his thoughts once again. His body had completely shut down its formerly urgent need to go to the bathroom. "I remember Dryden mentioned Nicole Wallace in the interrogation. He must have read the details. But something doesn't sit right captain. How and why did he plan all this on the very afternoon he met me? I arrested him the next day." Goren brained stewed and chewed as he spoke.

Eames cut in. "What Goren's saying captain is that there's got to be an accomplice, and we're pretty sure it's one of the corrections officer at Rikers – Charles Craven."

Ross looked peeved at this new information. "And just how do you know that Detective Eames? And can you please explain why you visited Dryden at Rikers yesterday Detective Goren?" Ross was annoyed. They weren't supposed to be investigating the case any further, since both detectives were victims of David Dryden's poisonings. If he hadn't just suicided, their continued involvement could have had serious legal ramifications down the track. Ross was pissed that Goren had avoided sharing this new information by keeping out of contact throughout the previous night. And here he was with several evidence bags. Ross wanted to keep them both safe and employed, but here they were playing renegade again. They really had no fucking concept of how hard they made it for him at times. At least they had finally come to him now.

Goren didn't try apologizing. He could see it was futile. He picked up the evidence bag containing the nanny cam, and passed it to Ross. "I visited him to confront him about this. I found it in my bedroom yesterday morning, the lens aimed right at my bed. I knew Dryden had put it there. It wasn't just Eames' apartment he broke into."

Ross examined it. It was a camera hidden in a book cover - Great Expectations - Ross had read that in college, and remembered it was a good read. Pip, Estella and Miss Havisham. He'd no doubt that Goren had read it too, and would not be likely to notice a book like this on his shelf as out of place. The captain also knew about Dryden's love letters and emails to Goren. The existence of the camera came as no great surprise. "And did he admit putting it there?" enquired Ross.

"Yeah he did," Goren replied, "I got angry, and asked him to tell me who had seen the footage. Then he made a threat towards Eames, and I..I hit him pretty hard."

Ross groaned and tousled his curly hair. It was going to go gray overnight. He wanted more than anything to retain Goren at Major Case, but the guy sure made it hard.

"He said he'd send flowers to her funeral captain." Goren defended himself soberly. He felt another squeeze on his shoulder, and his heart started pumping again.

Eames took over his story, as she often did. "The corrections officer present during the visit was Charles Craven, and he told Goren to leave without reporting the assault. Dryden was already beat up pretty bad. There's something going on in that jail."

"It's a big place. Prisoners are beaten all the time. What.."

"Let me finish Captain. See I know Charles Craven. He used to be an NYPD Sergeant. I testified against him many years ago for beating on a pimp and he lost his job. He's not happy with me to say the least, and he's as corrupt as they come."

Goren interjected "He told me Dryden would be put in isolation for his outburst on me sir, but not a few hours later I got a text message from Dryden. Let me show you. Where's the new phone?" he asked Ross.

Ross passed Goren his binder and a new cell phone. While Goren switched SIM cards, Eames explained her history with Craven in greater detail.

Goren powered up the phone, and at least twenty messages vibrated through. He ignored the buzzing until he found the message Dryden had sent him. He hesitated for only a moment, before making a decision. He could not do this on his own. He handed the phone to Eames first. The ball was in her court. He watched her face turn into a frown as she read Dryden's text message.

_"I watched you fuck her you naive bastard! She didn't say she loved you back. Estella's toying with your affections, but you'll find out her true colors soon enough – I know you're a top-notch detective. I have already arranged a fitting punishment for her. Unlike the gigolo, you get one more chance. But only because I know what it feels like to be rejected. I'll be waiting for you when this is done."_

Eames looked down at Goren and she nodded her permission lightly. He handed the phone to Ross.

Ross read the message and closed his eyes. The truth didn't hit him for a moment, then it crashed into him with all the force of a freight train. He opened his eyes again. He spoke slowly, but with a monotone voice full of resignation. "So am I right in assuming this 'Estella' is your girlfriend Goren? And that this camera in your room recorded what I think it did." Ross deliberately avoided looking at Eames. He was no fool. After all, he'd heard detective Eames tell Goren that she loved him on the phone the previous day. He already comprehended to whom this message referred, but chose to play the game anyway.

Goren simply nodded, and maintained eye contact. What else could he do?

"And just how long have you been seeing this Estella woman, or don't I want to know?" Ross asked.

Goren sighed and rubbed the mole on his swollen forehead. "It's definitely a new relationship captain. That video - and there's only one... well, it was our first night together," he choked out. He wanted Ross to know that he had not been playing him for a fool for all these years, and for him to understand why he had made some less-than-ethical decisions over the past thirty hours.

Ross nodded in comprehension, and tilted his blue eyes down towards to the seated Goren's serious brown ones. He could tell his detective was telling the truth. He certainly didn't expect this, but at the same time he wasn't surprised. Goren had almost been killed a couple of weeks ago, and it was understandable that this event would have stirred up emotions in both of them. Ross remembered how distraught Eames had been while they were in the hospital waiting room with no news of his condition. Ross had almost put his arms around her to comfort her a couple of times. He figured she must have been terrified at the thought of losing her partner when she had also suffered the loss of a husband. A husband! Is that how she thought of Goren? No wonder they'd been off their game since then!

Ross momentarily had the stupid thought of congratulating the guy - but this was not the time. Throughout this wordless eye exchange between the two men, Eames remained on the edge of her hospital bed, watching the proceedings. Her hand never released its grip on Goren's shoulder; it was a clear show of loyalty. The two detectives seemed solid for now, despite whatever that letter from Frank Goren had meant. He would deal with the finer details partnership later. Deep down he knew it would be hypocritical to overreact. After all, he strictly shouldn't be seeing Elizabeth, since she handled many of Major Cases' autopsies. But he was their captain damnit! Sometimes it just wasn't worth the headache for the paycheck.

Ross stepped up, and took some action. "OK, so is this video still out there?" He was concerned. He did not want to lose his two best detectives over what was maybe just a one-night stand, and he certainly did not want to see them humiliated. He briefly imagined being in their position, and his protective streak pushed to the surface. These were his two grittiest and best detectives, and he did not want to lose them.

Goren responded, "I don't know for certain. Dryden gave me the password for the server at Brownlow. I drove up yesterday to investigate the honey, and I deleted the master files while I was there. Dryden definitely had a computer or a connected cell phone in Rikers though. Who's to say there's not still a copy?"

At that remark, Eames finally let go of her death grip on his shoulder and turned around to look out the window, covering her mouth in an attempt to cover her distress. Goren placed his hand just above her knee and squeezed, not concerned about anything but her.

Ross pretended not to see it. "Well, Goren, Eames. Rest assured I'm going to make it my mission to make damn certain there's not a copy out there. Nichols and Wheeler are at Rikers now, and they'll seize any potential evidence for his suicide."

Goren tore his gaze from Eames, and put it back on Ross. "I don't think it was a suicide Captain. He would have sent me a note." Goren had over twenty new messages on his phone, and he'd been checking - none of them were from Dryden.

"Alright, so we get them to look at Craven, and the other prisoners."

Eames finally spoke. "And make sure the body goes to Rodgers." The instruction was understood. Rodgers would know whether or not to rule it as a suicide.

At the mention of his girlfriend, Ross took a brief moment to empathize before speaking up. "I promise the both of you that this will be handled discreetly. If there are any files about, they will not see the light of day. As far as I'm concerned Goren, you went to Brownlow to investigate the flowers. This text message just proves Dryden's obsessive jealousy over your one night stand with this 'Estella' person, and the letter merely shows that he was also jealous of your close bond with your partner. This suicide follows the 'obsessive love' disorder that you profiled to a 'T'. As for Craven, you can be sure that Nichols will break him if he's involved in any way."

Ross's confident declaration surprised everyone in the room, including himself. Before anyone had a chance to respond, there was a knock on the door and Dr. Ryan entered the room, accompanied by a young timid-looking female nurse.

"Good morning Captain Ross, Detective Goren, Detective Eames." Ryan was sharp, and she had not forgotten any of their names from the previous day. "I'm apologize for interrupting, but it's time for your follow-up tests Ms Eames. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask the two gentlemen to leave." Dr Ryan was clearly a no-nonsense woman.

"When am I likely to be released Dr Ryan?" Eames inquired. The two 'gentlemen; listened with interest.

Dr Ryan responded curtly. "I highly doubt it will be today. This is an unusual and rarely recorded type of poisoning. Therefore, it's vital that this hospital monitor the effects in the event that this should happen to anyone else in the future. I intend to keep you under observation for at least another 24 hour Ms Eames."

'Ms Eames' looked annoyed. "But I feel fine. I'm in perfect health, and I need to get back to work urgently. I'm investigating a multiple murder doctor. I can drop in for tests several times a day if I have to."

Dr Ryan raised her eyebrows. "You investigate criminal cases, and I investigate medical cases. The sooner you let me do my job, the sooner you can get back to doing yours." Dr Ryan pulled out a needle and shooed Goren away from his chair, which was blocking the nurse's access to the patient. Eames submitted to the alcohol swab with a roll of her eyes. She rarely met her match, but she somehow sensed she had on this occasion.

Goren dared to stoop over and gave his partner a kiss on the top of the head. "We'll all take care of this Eames – don't worry. You just let the doctor do what's she's got to do. You'll be back at work in no time."

She couldn't help but smile up at him wryly. She was so vulnerable to him now. He was always a sweet man, but had only just started to express it verbally, and it continued to throw her for a loop. The emotional way she responded to him kept surprising her as well. She had always been so tough and guarded with Goren, but that was changing fast.

"OK." She submitted again. "But keep your phone switched on this time. I need regular updates."

Goren nodded as he and Ross gathered up the evidence. Goren took his binder and his phone, not forgetting the suit jacket he had left behind the previous day. He wanted to ask her a million more questions, but they would just have to wait. With a final nod to her, he and Ross left the room, and closed the door behind them.

"You think this Craven's a threat?" he asked Goren as soon as they were outside.

"Yeah I think he's a threat" Goren confirmed.

Ross and Goren talked to the uniform, officer Adams, who was guarding the hospital room. Goren gave him a description of Craven, and asked him to pass it on to the other officers, who were all on an eight hour rotating shift. After that, Goren and Ross went to administration asking for Eames to be transferred to another room without a window. It was defensively pointed out by the administrator that her hospital room was on the second floor with a wall that was impossible to scale, but Ross was insistent, and got his way.

After these transactions, Goren looked at his captain with a new level of regard. He'd forgotten that Ross had once been a detective too, and probably a damn good one.

Ross caught his look, and liked it. "C'mon Detective. Let's get back to work.

Goren left Lewis' car in the parking lot and accompanied his captain to 1PP.

* * *

><p>An hour or so later Eames found herself pissed at having to sit in her brand new hospital room, now windowless, while she helplessly waited for a call from Goren. She felt impatient. Liz was due to drop back in later in the afternoon while their father babysat Nate. She knew Liz was going to press her for more details on her partner. Their father had let it slip, or just gossiped, about her changed relationship status with Goren. Liz had not been able to ask much that morning with Nate listening, but boy did she want to know the scoop.<p>

Eames was livid that she would have to stay in the hospital yet another night when she felt just fine. The small hospital obviously had its own research agenda, so she was stuck here instead of going home. She wasn't ashamed to admit to herself that she almost couldn't wait to take her partner to bed again - her own bed this time. She had honestly never had a lover of his caliber before, and wanted to test the theory that Goren's phenomenal performance had been just a one-off (two-off) event.

As well as that, she wanted to make it up to him somehow for not having told him about Frank, and she had a few ideas about just how she was going to do that. He had taken the news about Frank a lot better than she'd expected, and she was grateful for it. She'd feared for a moment that he'd walk away from her, but she was wrong. He planned to stay right by her side.

The only thing holding her back from fantasizing about him right then was her anxiety about the possibility of the video of them being out there. The thought of the footage of their lovemaking being observed by anyone was too much to bear, and so she refused to consider the worst outcome until it actually happened. The worst thing of all was that there was nothing she could do about it while she was trapped between these four off-white walls with a police officer guarding her. Then there was the possibility that Craven might be trying to get some form of revenge. That hypothesis was yet another thing out of her hands for now. She tried to refocus her thoughts on the positive.

She was genuinely relieved at how decisive and understanding Ross had been. Her opinion of him had improved today. She still harbored a deep resentment for how he'd handled the aftermath of Frank's death, but since then she couldn't deny that Ross had demonstrated his increasing respect for Goren in subtle ways. She could also see that he planned to protect the two of them in any way he could, even if it meant turning a blind eye. That had been a surprise and comfort to her, and it was not her only comforting thought. With Dryden dead, Goren would now be out of the homicidal creep's field of vision. She was glad he was dead, even if he had been mentally ill. '_No rest for the wicked'_ was Dryden's catchphrase, and he was probably currently reciting it in hell. Goren would be safe from him now.

There was still something niggling at the back of Eames' sharp mind. She had no control over any of the stark thoughts that were plaguing her, but there was one step she could take, even from this bed.

She picked up her cell and found the name she was looking for. He'd left her a message last night to check on her, but she hadn't called back.

"Ron Carver's office," answered a female voice.

"I'd like to speak to Ron Carver please. Is he in?"

"I'll check. May I ask whose calling?"

"This is Detective Eames from Major Case. Tell him it's urgent."

There was a short click and buzz, followed by another click.

Carver's distinctive voice penetrated her ear. "Detective Eames? I heard what happened. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." she assured him. "I'll be out of hospital tomorrow. How's your practice doing?"

He picked up her non sequitur change of topic, and immediately recognized that she had called for a specific purpose. "My practice is fine. What can I do for you Detective?"

She always liked Carver. He was a man who appreciated facts, and he didn't mess around. "You used to work with June Fletcher, correct?" she asked.

"Indeed," he responded. His voice was neutral - strangely neutral.

"So what can you tell me about her?" asked Eames.


	21. The Big Catch And The Barracuda

After Goren and Ross arrived at the offices of Major Case, the anxious detective found himself all at sea waiting for Nichols and Wheeler to return from Rikers, where they were investigating Dryden's alleged suicide. Goren kept glancing over at Eames' empty chair, where she should rightfully be sitting. He wanted her to be there; he wanted to work the case with her– their case. Instead of investigating, he was now a witness. Goren understood that he would need to explain why he had punched Dryden in the face on the very same day that the student had ostensibly taken his own life. He also knew that this act could be grounds for dismissal.

Casting the issue of job security from his mind, Goren leaned a little too far back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He had dozens of questions and theories he wanted to put forward, but his partner's vacant chair would not answer, and nor would his binder. Had it been a genuine suicide? Who was responsible for the beating and sexual abuse that Dryden had obviously been suffering? What of corrections officer Craven, was he even on the roster at the time Dryden's body was found? Had a search of Dryden's block for illicit computer equipment been conducted? If so, by whom? There were so many variables. He was becoming increasing agitated that all of the control had been taken from of his hands.

Ross was trying to help out as best he could, putting his own detective skills to work, and even invited Goren into his sanctuary - his office. But the captain had a number of urgent cases on his plate, and was not able to dedicate every moment to this one. The first step Goren took was to confirm that corrections officer Charles Craven was indeed the same sergeant Eames had testified against all those years ago. He took this to Ross, who immediately called Nichols to fill him in on this new advance. Goren was extremely on edge as he listened to Ross explain (in a neutral and factual tone at least) several other aspects of the case that Nichols was not familiar with. This included the surveillance on Goren's bedroom, and the existence of _'footage of a sexual nature taken of Detective Goren and a girlfriend', _not to mention Goren's assault on Dryden and Craven's failure to report it.

Ross then assured Nichols that he would forward him the threatening text message Dryden had sent to Goren. Although Goren felt slightly humiliated as he listened to all of this, he inwardly rejoiced at Ross's protective streak towards Eames. His boss probably should have told Nichols that Eames was the 'girlfriend' on that tape, but he hadn't; he hadn't outright lied either. It was obvious that his captain would not see her career go down over this. At least Rikers would now be raked from one end to another in an attempt to unearth that footage. When Ross hung up, Goren looked at him knowingly and nodded in thanks.

"I'm prepared to keep this under wraps for as long as it takes Goren. As far as I'm concerned, the letter to your brother and your close professional partnership was motive enough for Dryden to want to poison Eames."

Goren's was appreciative, but didn't show it right then. At the mention of the word 'motive', his left hand began to rub his stubbled chin as his mind started to drift into another dimension. However, he kept a thread to this world by softly uttering his thoughts. It was normally Eames who would listen to his train-of-thought, but she wasn't here. So it fell on Ross to act as the inadequate substitute. Goren spoke "But captain, when exactly did Dryden do all of this? I know he entered my apartment some time after 7am on the morning of his arrest. He planted the camera and stole my book as a memento. Then he went to Eames' apartment where he found the letter from Frank, and laid it inside the book, leaving it on her shelf. He left the honey….but what I want to know is, how and when did he get a hold of the succinylcholine? It was a clearly a very personal way to try to kill her, and a definite reference to Frank, and how he died. But Dryden could not have predicted finding that letter, and he honestly did not have enough time to hunt down that exact paralytic drug. He was arrested just after 10am.

Ross nodded, listening. It was a convoluted case.

Goren continued, "I simply can't buy that he just happened to have saccinocholine on him. Why did he even bother trying to poison her on two fronts anyway when the alcohol was much more likely to be consumed in a lethal dose than the honey?" Goren was puzzled. It just didn't add up. He was almost certain that Dryden could not have hatched and executed his plot without assistance.

Ross raised his eyebrows in consideration. He understood why Goren was unconvinced of Dryden being the sole perpetrator, but knew it would be more useful to play the Devil's advocate to stimulate Goren's thinking. "Well you said so yourself. He'd researched your career, your history with Wallace. He mentioned her in the interrogation after all. He could have got a hold of the substance the night based on that information alone."

Goren spoke slowly. "I guess it's possible he was working by himself, but to do it all within less than a day of meeting me…I just don't see how he pulled it off. The man couldn't even finish his PhD over a seven year period."

"You think Craven helped with this in some way, don't you? Maybe with the letter or the poison." Ross asked without inflection.

Goren made eye contact with Ross, surprised that his boss understood. It so rarely happened, that it startled both of them. " I'm almost sure of it Captain. And God how I'd like to get Craven in a room and find out!" Goren was pissed.

This comment spurred Ross back into boss mode. "Well you're going to have to cool your jets and trust your colleagues to deal with this Goren. If Craven is responsible for some kind of attack of vengeance on your partner, you don't want him dodging charges on a technicality. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you are also a victim in this case, and therefore cannot investigate it any further."

Goren nodded in acquiesce, and the shift in tone and pulling of rank caused the big dectective to end the conversation abruptly. He nodded and walked out of Ross's office. Goren attempted to sit back in his chair, but he got up again in short measure and took off his brown leather jacket. He began to pace and stalk around the bullpen, his black t-shirt making him seem akin to a captive and hungry panther. This act altered the atmosphere of the whole office; it was now filled with a latent tension, making everyone on edge. No one dared approach him, not even to ask him about the recovery of his partner. Having already handed over his Piscasso case to Jeffries and Andrews, he had no choice but to wait for Nichols and Wheeler to get back from Rikers. _It could be hours yet! _he thought with aggravation.

Goren heard the elevator buzz and looked up. The appearance of the tall, lanky Nichols and his freckled and sleek, but subtly pregnant partner was a welcome one. He already knew from Ross that they did not have Craven with them. Ross must have had some momentary sixth sight because he opened his door 'My office' he commanded. Goren Nichols and Wheeler entered without so much as a greeting. Megan took the only chair, while the three men remained standing, but they instinctively left an almost uniform amount of personal space away from each other. Tension and testosterone levels were high.

Nichols spoke first, "A preliminary examination of the scene was inconclusive. The height of the bucket and the way the knot was tied indicated that he may well have received some kind of assistance as he was strung up, though I cannot be sure until forensics examines the rope. I ordered prints of the photos, they're on their way." He addressed the last part to Goren, understanding that he would want to analyze every last angle for himself.

"He leave a note?" asked Goren.

"Not that we could find," replied Zack.

Goren shuffled his feet and leaned back against the glass wall. His still slightly oversized brow furrowed tightly. Goren knew that given Dryden's obsession with him, he definitely would have left a note to make him feel guilty for being the perceived cause of his suicide.

Wheeler spoke up. "The fire alarm sounded last night around 30 minutes before lock-up, and all prisoners were evacuated. It was a false alarm; Rikers has a lot of those. Charles Craven was one of the officers on duty in Dryden's block. He had pulled a double shift, but apparently followed emergency procedures to the letter. The laundry was checked briefly when Dryden could not be accounted for, but he was hanging behind a storeroom door. Nobody found him until much later."

"You still haven't spoken to Craven? Did he find the body?" piped in Goren.

Megan looked him in the eyes. "No, a junior officer found him. And yes, we met Craven briefly, but the guy's been awake for fifty hours or so apparently. The warden and his union rep said they'd send him to 1PP after he got a few hours shuteye in the staff sick bay. I'm afraid we couldn't insist on dragging him in here immediately. He's not a suspect in any crime until an autopsy suggests otherwise, and we didn't want to tip him off..." Goren could hear that Wheeler was pissed that they hadn't yet been able to bring in Craven, even as a witness.

Nichols took over. Goren was starting observe that they were becoming fairly good team. "We didn't want to interview him without sufficient prep on his history with Eames. We plan to blindside him with that."

Goren knew that was a judicious idea, but he was still concerned. "Did you identify yourselves to him as Major Case?"

Nichols nodded. "It was the only trump card we had. The department was trying to conduct an internal investigation before we even got there, Why?" Nichols had already figured out why, but wanted Goren to verbalize it anyway.

Goren looked pensive. "Craven could be reluctant to come in here in case he bumps into Eames and she recognizes him. I do not believe for a second that he's ignorant of the fact that she works here, and that she's my partner. I'd be surprised if you didn't have to drag him in kicking and screaming. That is unless he knows Eames is in hospital."

"How would he know that?" asked Megan. "It hasn't hit the papers yet. Did you tell Dryden?"

Goren shook his head and rubbed his lips with his thumb. His eyes had a faraway look. "I think Charles Craven might know a hell of a lot more about this case than we suspect." His words left his mouth slowly and deliberately and drifted across the office.

Nichols observed his thoughtful colleague on the other side of the room and inadvertently rubbed his own thumb on his cheek in a kind of unconscious mimicry. He addressed Goren directly. "There was one peculiar thing I noticed; a group of prisoners filed passed while Wheeler was attempting to question Craven. One of them, a big tattooed guy, grinned at Craven and held up eight fingers. It was obviously meant as some kind of sign. Craven tried not to show a reaction, but I observed a momentary flash of rage and definitely some panic too."

This intriguing piece of information caused Goren's alertness to heighten. "You interview this prisoner?" he asked Zack

Nichols replied that the Department of Corrections hadn't yet allowed them to officially interview any inmates, but that he and Wheeler had definitely detected a culture of fear surrounding that particular wing of the jail. The duo had at least managed to compile a list of those who had been seen interacting with Dryden in any significant way. And the tattooed inmate who had held up his eight fingers, Bradley 'Bubba' Lawless, was at the very top of that list.

Ross snorted at the inmate's surname, but Goren was oblivious as he grilled his colleagues with questions. They responded with admirable patience and threw over to Goren questions of their own.

The conversation was interrupted by a call on Ross's cell, which he ignored. This was soon followed by a call on his landline, which he could not ignore. Only crucial calls ever got transferred though. Ross picked up, "One moment sir", and put it on hold. "Deputy commissioner – I need to take this," the captain explained.

Despite Goren and Eames solving the murder of the deputy commissioner's daughter Amanda a couple of years back, Leland Dokerty was certainly no fan of Goren and had no doubt been an influencing factor, along with Kenny Moran, in his drawn out suspension. Ross avoided eye contact with Goren and instead addressed Wheeler, "Take Goren's statement and then let him assist you in preparing for the Craven interview." This command was undoubtedly the cue for the three to leave his office. Ross had already made it abundantly clear to Goren that he would not be a part of the interview/psuedo interrogation, and that his role would be limited to watching the action from the observation room only. Ross held the vague hope that allowing Goren to have some input on how the interrogation should go down might placate the volatile detective somewhat.

Megan, Zack and Bobby left the office only to exile themselves in an interview room. They spent the next couple of hours going through Craven's NYPD and Department of Corrections employee files attempting to profile him. Goren suggested that an overwhelming need for loyalty, and lack of career progression were both significant burrs in Craven's saddle, and the three brainstormed ways to trip him up in the interview.

Goren gave his statement on his violent visit to Rikers, and also filled them in on the camera, the messages, the books and other evidence including the abuse Dryden had suffered as well as June Fletcher's repeated and unnecessary visits to Rikers. Both Nichols and Wheeler fairly quickly surmised that it was Goren and Eames together on that video, and not some random girlfriend, but neither uttered a word. The Major Case detectives had closed ranks, and Goren was profoundly grateful for their solidarity.

After their productive session, Nichols and Wheeler had to leave in order to follow up on their management of various aspects of the scene, including getting an update on the transfer of Dryden's body, contacting forensics, organizing for a CSU team sent to Goren's apartment, and getting trusted IT staff to examine any computers or cellphones that turned up in the jail cell sweep at Rikers.

Goren was exasperated he was not allowed to control this part of the investigation. He was also annoyed that his sanctuary, his apartment, was to be invaded by a CSU team searching for poisons and God knew what else. He hadn't been home in a while, but he knew it was a mess from his vigorous trashing of it when he had searched for additional cameras. The sheets on his bed were still soiled and then there was his bottle of sleeping pills and vanilla condoms, which he knew for a fact he had strewn all over his bedroom floor in a temper. He had been so upset over the contents of Frank's letter that he hadn't bothered to clean up. Even more distressing was the possibility of the 'sex tape' being in circulation at Rikers. That was yet another thread that was completely out of his hands. Her world could unravel at any moment, and he didn't know what else he could do.

He tried to keep himself occupied. It was either that or blow a gasket. He again attempted to assist an irritated Jeffries with the stolen art case, but the veteran first grade detective had it well under hand, already narrowing in on the thief. Realizing he was an unwelcome intrusion into everyone's workday, Goren walked into an empty interview room and closed the door, and he called Eames.

She sensed his agitation as he gave her an update on the case; they both avoided the topic of their video. Goren's irritation slowly dissipated at the sound of her voice and her sound advice. She then tried to steer his train of thought in another direction. She mentioned that Liz had returned once again to visit her, and had only just left. She then instructed him to go out and get something high in nutrients for lunch, and he found himself smiling inwardly as she predicted slyly that he was going to require a lot of stamina in the days to come.

The mere act of speaking to his partner lifted his mood. So much so that he decided to call his buddy Lewis to thank him for the car, which was still parked at the hospital. Lewis assured him that he could keep for as long as he needed it. His friend enquired after Eames with concern. Lewis had a thing for 'Detective Alex', but he understood that Bobby was profoundly in love with her, even if he never admitted it to himself. Throughout the phone call, Lewis could sense a definite tender change in Goren's voice when he referred to her. However, the mechanic sagely avoided asking his friend questions about it. He would wait until he and Goren were face-to-face and good and drunk before hitting him up for details. The two old friends made tentative plans for a night out.

* * *

><p>Goren hung up satisfied, and scrolled through the contacts on his cell. He then surprised himself by calling Mike Logan, who picked up almost immediately.<p>

"Logan."

"Hey Logan. It's Goren. I got your message last night- thanks."

"Goren buddy. You doing OK? I heard a bee took you down." Mike sounded truly worried.

"Yeah, recovered."

"And Eames?"

"She's fine. They're still guarding her at the hospital, but the immediate threat seems to be over," Goren explained. He hoped to God that was true and that no one else planned to harm Alex.

"Yeah, I talked to Wheeler late last night when I couldn't get through to you. I wish I could be there for you both." Logan's longing to help out with the case was evident, but he was no longer a Major Case Detective.

"I know you'd be here if you could. Look, if there's anything I want done on the down low, I'll let you know." Goren knew Logan'd be up for just about anything.

"You know it! I can't tell you how good it feels to be a free agent. No brass to justify myself to. No need to defend my investigative choices. It's taken my balls month to recover from the vice grip they were in. You'd love it Goren, you know. If you ever decided to leave for any reason...my offer still stands."

Mike had recently offered him a partnership in his fledgling private agency, but Goren had declined because he needed to be around near Eames after the murder of his brother.

"I only just got my shield back."

"Yeah, but without me to share all the wrath from above, it could all rain down on you. Especially now…"

"Now what?"

"Well you can give me the answer yourself some other time."

"What do you mean? Have you heard anything?" Goren was concerned about the possible leak of the sex tape.

"No, no man. Nothing serious. I just…Wheeler thinks that maybe you and Eames are uh involved."

"Wheeler thinks huh? What did she tell you?"

"Nothing Goren. She's a good girl, solid, loyal. You know that. She was my partner."

"Yeah I know." Goren really did respect Megan Wheeler, especially after the past few days. And Eames had told him that Wheeler, Nichols and Ross had overheard her phone call just before she was driven to hospital. She had told Goren that she loved him for the very first time. _She loved him. _

Deep down Goren knew that Wheeler would not have mentioned the existence of the tape to anybody – not even Mike Logan. Still, was any aspect of their love life private?

Mike went on."So I sincerely hope what she _vaguely _hinted at is accurate, and I hope we can have a beer sometime."

Goren sighed. To Mike's ears, it must have been as good as a confirmation. "Yeah we can have a beer, in a few days maybe."

Mike knew not to push at the tender subject of 'Goren and Eames sitting in a tree' quite yet. He changed tack. "I'm telling you man. This private detective agency gig is great. I've got a lot more work than I can handle, and it's all because I can boast I used to be an elite Major Case detective.."

"What sort of work? Chasing around cheating spouses?"

"Not at all. OK Sure the searching for skeletons in rich families' closets has brought in the bucks, but there are some interesting cold cases and incidents where the local precinct's work has been unsatisfactory. These are people who have no one else to help them. I really could use you on board. The only hard thing is getting hold of the information I need 'cos it's not all at my fingertips now. I miss having someone to bounce off of too."

Goren knew what Mike was suggesting – that he could fulfill these deficiencies. Goren curiosity was peaked. "And you're making a living?"

"I am earning more and more each month. I'm having to turn cases away, and shit man with a famous name like yours on board, there would be lucrative consultancy work.

Goren snorted. "Infamous is more like it."

"Yeah well, if you quit before you get fired like I had the good sense to do..." Mike wisely went for a more humorous angle. "I could get a new sign made up for the front door. **"Logan and Goren – Hunky Private Investigative Consultant Partners'** Sure, we'd have to grow moustaches, and maybe get an old red Ferrari 308GTS and a few Hawaiian shirts, but I'm telling you; if you don't take me up on this, I'll find someone who will.

Goren chuckled at the visual "OK, OK. I hear what you're saying and I do appreciate the sentiment. We'll have a beer and talk about it at least."

"I'll hold you to that detective. And Goren, I can sweeten the deal even further.'

"Yeah, how's that?" Goren braced himself; he could hear the mocking tone in his former colleague's voice.

"Well, I know you're an angry loner and all, but I just want you know that I'd be willing to be your best man if you can't find anyone else. I'll even put on a tux."

Goren allowed a good bit of uncomfortable silence before responding. "Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"We'd have to make the sign read '**_Goren and Logan _consultants_'_ **- not **'Logan and Goren'.** It just has a better phonetic flow to it."

This time it was Mike's turn to pause as though he was thinking it over. "Oh I get it, like 'Goren and Eames' rather than 'Eames and Goren'.

"Something like that." Bobby conceded with exasperation before leaving yet another long silence. Goren had always understood the power of the pause.

Mike broke the standoff first "So I guess that's a 'yes' to the best man thing then?"

Goren muttered, "Wise ass!", albeit good naturedly. He was about to hang up on Logan when a thought struck him.

"Hey Logan can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

Goren ignored his lame attempt at humor. "What do you think of ADA Fletcher?"

"Uh, why do you ask?" Logan sounded sheepish.

"I don't know. I just want your opinion on her."

"Are you asking if I've slept with her?" asked Logan.

"No I wasn't actually. But have you?"

Mike sighed. "Yeah I've slept with her. And yeah it was good – real good. She's pretty wild."

"Just the once?"

"Yeah. That's my rumored MO. Besides, she seemed to be a bit of a gossip. She tried to trash Jack McCoy and made reference to his past romantic transgressions. I wouldn't hear it when she started on him. I think she must have overestimated my dislike for him- though God knows how she even knew about it."

Goren banked that piece of intelligence. "What precisely do you mean by 'wild'?"

Logan discomfort was increasing. "Why do you want to know all this Goren? She mess with you?"

"I don't know. Maybe she's trying to."

Logan sensed he wasn't going to get much more than that out of Goren. "OK OK – let's just say she'd make the karma sutra seem like a 'Dummies' guide, and she wanted to direct the whole night, complete with cameras."

Goren's stomach did a flip. "What? Did you let her?"

"Oh c'mon man! Of course I didn't. Give me a little credit. It makes me wonder though…"

"Wonder what?"

"If it's not a little hobby she has. You know I hate this kind of speculation about successful women. It's happened to Wheeler, and the double standard – I get that it's unfair.

"OK" Goren knew what he was getting at. Eames had complained of this over the years. If a woman was young, good looking, and successful then she would always be accused of sleeping her way to the top.

Mike went on. "But between you and me Goren, I've often wondered how Fletcher made it through the ranks so quickly. I mean I know she's smart and talented and I'm not implying that she's not damn good at her job. I mean I know it's not justifiable for women to come under that kind of scrutiny but…"

"Go on," encouraged Goren. He could sense Mike didn't really want to enter this territory, which was why he was being so circuitous.

Logan bit the bullet. "But she was the second youngest ADA ever appointed, and she can be very persuasive when it comes to getting her own way in court. Maybe it's just legal flair on her part but I wonder just how many little movies she might have made. Trust me Goren - stay right away from June Fletcher."

Goren nodded internally. "Uh thanks for your frankness Logan – that was helpful." Mike had given him a lot to ruminate on.

"No worries buddy. Listen, you need any help on whatever the hell you're doing, you know I'm just a phone call away."

"Yeah."

"And I'll expect to share a beer or ten before the week is out."

"Sure thing Logan. Bye."

"Arrivederci partner."

Goren smiled involuntarily at the 'partner' comment. It was reassuring to have a possible Plan B of becoming a private detective alongside Mike Logan, even if it was a (crack)pipe dream. He rose to make himself a coffee. He needed time to think.

* * *

><p>His phone had other ideas, and it rudely interrupted his brain's planned activity with its generic ringtone.<p>

"Goren?" he answered.

"Bobby?"

"Hi Liz, anything wrong?" he felt a jolt of adrenaline in his kidneys even though he had only just spoken to Eames.

"No, nothing's wrong. I've just been to see my big sister."

Goren already knew that, but didn't point it out. "How is she?"

"Better, but restless to get out of that hospital bed. She's relieved that Dryden's no longer a threat. You think she's safe now? There's still a policeman guarding her hospital room."

It was obvious that Eames hadn't told Liz about Craven. "I'm sure she'll be fine." He changed the topic so as not to cause her undue worry. "Uh. I'm sorry I missed you this morning. I bought a little something for Nate." He was referring to the gingerbread man he'd picked up at Starbucks.

Liz got a little excited. "I've got it right here. A cute little gingerbread guy; Nate loves that story; you should read it to him sometime. It was really thoughtful of you to buy that for him Bobby. How did you know he'd like it?" She didn't pause for an answer. It was uncomfortable to have a conversation with the taciturn Robert Goren, but she was determined to try. She powered on. "Nate's with Grandpa right now, but I'll let him eat it after dinner. He'll love it!" She stopped momentarily to draw breath.

Although social convention demanded turn-taking during casual conversation, Goren honestly couldn't think of any additional insight to add to the topic of rogue gingerbread men, and he was, at that very moment, downright envious of that damn pastry for being so fast on his fleeing feet. He stayed put, determined to make some sort of effort with partner's verbose sister. Unfortunately, he only managed to clear his throat. He vaguely hoped that the muffled sound would drown out the chorus of singing crickets which was increasing in both shrillness and volume as each awkward second ticked away.

Liz saved him. "So Alex says her apartment is safe to enter, and I'm doing a little shopping for her. I plan to clean up, do her laundry and so on – it's safe to go in right?"

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that all that; I was going to do it. But yeah, the place is safe to enter." He was genuinely grateful and it showed.

"Is there anything you need Bobby?"

"What?"

"Is there anything you want me to pick up for her? I'm about to go to the store."

"Oh right. They've taken all food and liquids from the house so coffee, sugar, laundry liquid, bread, milk…"

"Yeah – yeah. I've got the staples covered. She's made me a list. I mean is there anything else? Anything special?"

He contemplated her question for a moment. He didn't know what Liz was getting at, so he took a stab in the dark. "Maybe pick up some skittles? The ones in the light blue packet – not the red packet, and uh.. some coffee syrup flavoring – hazelnut, almond, butterscotch – any of those.

"Uh huh – got it. Anything else?" Liz encouraged.

"Maybe some fruit, strawberries, passionfruit. Then there's shampoo– she uses something with cinnamon or vanilla; um bath oils with a jasmine fragrance or at least something not too strong; maybe some margarita mix. Uh..stuff like that.

"OK, that was helpful. Consider it done," answered Liz. If she'd noticed his detailed knowledge of her favorite items or the way he'd slipped 'bath oils' and 'margarita' onto the list, her tone voice didn't betray it. Despite Alex's skilled evasion techniques, Liz knew that her sister and had finally done the deed with her brawny partner, and only quite recently too. After her older sibling's years in vice, Liz had never once witnessed her blush, and Alex had flushed more hotly than a June bride as Liz had demanded to know just _how long_ the relationship with Bobby had been going on. And that was not the only unit of measurement Liz had enquired about either.

Liz approved wholeheartedly. She had always liked Bobby Goren for the way he had supported her sister throughout both the surrogacy and in the aftermath of her kidnapping. Even before that, it was clear that Bobby regarded Alex as his equal. Liz had been worried that it would never happen for the two of them, and it was a disappointment to her. She knew that her sister was in love with the man, but she couldn't seem to get past her intimacy issues; and this had only festered over the years. Liz sensed that the partnership with Goren had been a lot more volatile in recent times. Of late she'd witnessed the despondency in Alex's eyes every time his name was brought up in passing.

Liz had bumped into Goren the previous year at Alex's apartment, and had been taken aback by his changed appearance. He was still strikingly handsome, but he was a man whose psyche had been altered by grief – much like her sister's had for many years. Maybe he'd come off a bad case, but he'd looked old, gray, out-of-shape, scruffy, and exhausted. Truthfully, he seemed to be sorely in need of some tender loving care, and she had told Alex so at the time.

The man had obviously been deprived of TLC, as had her sister. But no more! Liz sensed that Bobby Goren would be the type to give love back in spades once he got a taste of it. And she was over the moon that they had finally gotten their act together. In truth, Liz was already imagining wedding dresses and another pregnancy on the cards for her sister. Alex was still fit and fertile, and he would make a fine and kind father. It could happen for her yet.

_Yes_, thought Liz, Alex had netted the big fish alright, and she could see the satisfaction on her sister's face at finally having _plucked _him out of the water. Alex had reeled in her catch, and what a specimen he was! He was a biggun, and there was no way she was going to throw that one back.

At present, Liz could hear that big catch flip-flopping helplessly around on the wharf, gasping the unfamiliar air as he painfully tried to handle the content of this phone call. She knew she needed to throw him back in the ocean before he suffocated, so she mercifully changed the direction her conversation away from their personal relationship. "Anyway, Doctor Ryan only wants to keep her overnight for observation. She's a real drill-sergeant that one. Alex should be out by mid-morning at the latest. You want me to pick her up from the hospital tomorrow and take her home? I mean if you'll be at work I can…"

He interjected more quickly than either of them expected. "I'd like to pick her up. I mean if.. if you don't mind." Goren was recalling how Eames hadn't been there to meet him when he'd been released from hospital. He didn't want her to experience what that felt like. God how things had changed since then!

"Don't be silly Bobby!. Of course I don't mind. I'll drop back in early tomorrow morning and with another change of clothes too, so you don't have to worry about that. And her apartment will be perfect and clean and full of food for when you get back."

"I'd be grateful for that. I wanted to do it myself but.."

Liz cut him off. "You're busy at work. She's my big sister. It's the least I can do. Now you have my number Bobby. You know you can call me for any little thing you need."

"Thank you Liz. The same goes for you."

"Oh and Bobby…?

"Yeah?"

"She told me not to say anything but..."

"Uh huh?" He braced himself for it.

"She's very happy with you."

Awkwardness gripped him and he scratched the back of his neck. "Oh…uh." He paused, not knowing how to respond. "I'm very happy with her too." He finally let out. He couldn't believe he'd just said that, but had to at least throw Liz a bone.

"Glad to hear it. My sister is one in a million."

"I know."

"I know you know. Bye bye Bobby."

"Goodbye Liz." She finally hung up to his great relief. The phone call had him in knots. He could almost hear what she'd been thinking about him, and he was mortified. However, the call meant one less burden he needed to bear. Liz would stock Eames' apartment. But more than that, it was clear that neither Liz nor Johnny Eames harbored any antipathy towards him. He had only detected warmth from both of them- welcoming, beckoning warmth. The _acceptance _of him as Alex's significant other had jarred him with its sudden arrival, and he didn't know quite what to make of it.

Sure he possessed the ability to make nice with suspects, witnesses, and people at parties. But when it came Liz, he was out of his depth. He tried to contemplate why that was when it suddenly hit him that he may have been just on the receiving end of a _family phone call_; a caring family phone call where someone was giving kindness, rather than sucking the life out of him. In his own family, he had always played the role of the gingerbread man who trusted crocodile to carry him across the water on his back, and everyone knew how that tale turned out.

* * *

><p>As he contemplated the rapid changes in his life, his cell sounded once again. He was reticent to answer it because he didn't feel ready for another call just yet. Apart from that, he didn't recognize the number, but he took it anyway.<p>

"Goren," he answered.

"Hello Detective Goren – it's Melissa Jordan." Goren was surprised to hear the cute Brownlow College Admin's voice. "How are you doing?" she enquired.

"Head's still a little swollen, but it could have been much much worse. You saved my life out there you know." Goren was aware that Melissa's quick action had prevented him from having much more serious case of anaphylaxis. And that wasn't the only way she'd aided him. She'd also allowed him to deleted Dryden's video files form the college server, and had provided him with much-needed information on the location of flowers which had been used to brew the toxic honey.

"And how's your partner? I heard Dryden's honey poisoned her after all."

"You heard right. She'll recover, but she's still in hospital."

"I'm sorry to hear that detective. That's not all I heard about Dryden. Is it true?" She sounded desperately curious.

"Yes, he's deceased." Goren was surprised to say the words out loud. The man really was dead.

"Suicide?"

"It's yet to be ruled upon. Maybe, maybe not."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone had killed him." He sensed malice in her tone, and it roused his suspicion for a moment.

"Is there anything I can do for you Melissa?" He'd given her his card for that specific purpose.

"Are you worried I'm going to ask you out or something?" she giggled. He _was_ worried, but not really for that reason. She knew of the existence of the video files. Why was she calling him?

"Well relax detective, I'm not calling to invite you on a date. You might as well know that since you left well Trevor and I – let's just say he's a lot more interesting than I gave him credit for." She was referring to the Brownlow IT tech who had reluctantly allowed Goren to delete Dryden's video files and all backups.

Goren didn't jump to conclusions about Melissa's call, but still maintained a healthy skepticism, as was part of his nature. Nonetheless, his instinct dictated that this young woman was trustworthy, and he felt almost certain she was one of the good guys. "I'm happy for you Melissa. He seems like an upstanding man."

"Man!" She snorted. "Yeah, well I think I've taken him over to the dark side of the force just a little; the poor little Luke Skywalker."

He laughed despite himself at her Star Wars reference. "The dark side?"

"Well, we uh… He discovered new activity on Dryden's Brownlow email account and kept it from his boss."

"His email account? I thought that it had been deleted." Panic entered Goren's vocal cords.

"No, it was just Dryden's staff files you deleted. His email account is still there."

Goren, Jeffries and Andrews had gone through Dryden's emails after his arrest. Anything incriminating had been collected. Goren's 'love emails' from Dryden had come from a hotmail account, which had subsequently been deleted. This was definitely new.

"Well, last night Trevor was going through his account to pass anything work-related on to the possible new head of apiculture, and he noticed an email with an attachment in the outbox; it..it was the video of you and a woman. He didn't watch it, he saw only just enough to figure it out."

Goren was left reeling with this news. Dryden must have accessed his Brownlow email account from prison and emailed the video file to god knows who within an hour or two of Goren leaving Rikers the previous morning. Goren felt sick. Who the fuck had he sent it to? Damn Craven for not locking him up in isolation!

"Detective?"

"Yeah, I'm listening."

"So Trevor deleted it. He also did a search with some software. There's nothing with the exact identifying marks of your video posted anywhere online."

"OK, I get it. That's good." Goren knew what she was saying. He had done similar searches on cases.

Melissa continued her explanation. "So that probably means that the only person who could have a copy is the owner of the email address he sent it to. You got a pen?"

Goren reached for his binder and mechanical pencil. "Shoot."

She dictated the email address. "It's chevy dot 6 at angelfire dot com"

"Chevy as in the car?" He asked

"Yeah. Trevor says it wouldn't be hard to hack into to the account if you wanted him to or maybe you want the police to do it instead. It's one of those web-based email accounts. It's not impossible to circumvent, or so he says."

"He could do that?"

"Sure he could."

"Well that would be much appreciated. If he manages to change the password, give me a call right here on the cell. I'd be interested in seeing the contents of that account."

"Will do Detective. Oh, I almost forgot. There was also an email sent to Dryden's account from the _Chevy_ address at about 3pm yesterday afternoon, but Trevor deleted it too. He tried to retrieve it, but it's gone."

"Did you read it?"

"No, but he did. He said it read something along the lines of _You've lost him now David. The only place you can get over this is in heaven. _Creepy huh? What does it mean?

There was an elongated pause as Goren jotted the note down in his binder. "I'll have to think about that Melissa. Can I ask you something personal?"

"Sure," she answered. She seemed to be intrigued by his tone.

"Why are you doing all this for me?" He really wanted to know. He didn't understand it.

"Well, it's not so easy to explain why."

He sensed her uneasiness. "You can tell me anything you know." He meant it.

She sighed. "OK then Detective. I was…well…something bad, real bad, happened to me a few years ago when a college party got out of hand. A cop, a police officer, well he helped me out. I mean _really_ helped me out. He was beyond kind. I guess just appreciate what law enforcers do is all."

He sensed her distress and sincerity. "Is this anything you need to talk about? Can _I_ help you?" He offered.

"No- but thank you for that. It was a while ago now and I've already seen a counselor about it. It wasn't only that though…I just really detest David Dryden, and I hate that he did this to you." There was a sudden venom in her voice which overtook the hurt.

"You sound as though you're speaking from personal experience." Goren's voice was smooth and soothing.

"He was…a heinous individual. I don't know for sure but earlier this year someone got a hold of my medical records and… emailed a scan around. Everyone in the college found out that I had a social disease. My boyfriend at the time dumped me for it even though I was cured. I was never 100% sure if it was Dryden who'd leaked it, but well; he made eye contact with me not long afterwards, it was only once, and I just suddenly _knew inside_ thathe was the one responsible."

"I believe you Melissa, and I'm so sorry he hurt you, " said Goren softly. He heard Dryden's words about Melissa echoing through his head _Just watch out for her. __She's a slut! __I heard that she spread gonorrhea around the dorms._

"Why would he do something like that to me Detective Goren?" She really wanted to understand.

"He wasn't right in the head Melissa. There could have been any number of motivating factors that drove him to be so unfeeling. Perhaps he was fixated on your boyfriend. Honestly, we'll never really know why now. But you're strong, resilient. You got through it; you didn't quit your job because of him and that took courage."

"Is it wrong to feel glad he's dead?" she asked seriously.

"Well if it is, then we can both be wrong together." Goren felt a certain amount of sympathy for Dryden's mental state and the abuse he may have suffered in prison, but the man had come after his own – and yes – Goren was glad he was dead.

Melissa sighed once more. "I think I need a cookie."

"Have two. They're restorative." He was referring to the cookies Melissa had given him after his bee sting. Many hours had passed since he'd eaten and the cookies had given him a second wind to help him discover the source Eames' poisoning and drive back to New York to be by her side. "And Melissa," he added, "Thank you. It.. It was nice a surprise to make a friend when I least expected it. You're as sharp as a tack - and a lot easier on the eyes too." He added in jest.

She laughed. "That goes double for you. I'll call you as soon as Trevor does his thing."

"I can't thank you enough -Trevor too. Give him one of those cookies."

"He should be so lucky!" she exclaimed.

"Talk to you soon then."

"Bye detective."

* * *

><p>The call ended. That Melissa – the pink-clad Pocahontas. She was a turn up for the books. So Dryden had emailed the video on on the very day of his death to Chevy dot 6 at angelfire dot com. Goren felt his integrity as a detective slip a little more as he decided not to fill in Ross or Nichols just yet. There was no way he could risk this video being admitted into official evidence if he could help it. He would just have to put out each little fire one at a time until all traces of this video were destroyed. If he couldn't do it, they could burn out of control and rip their way though Eames' career.<p>

He typed the email address into google- no results. He searched for 'Chevy 6' 'Chevrolet 6' and even thought of giving Lewis another call for insight. Could Craven own a Chevy? As Goren was perusing online pictures of Chevy vehicles, images of the actor Chevy Chase kept popping up. What was that cop movie he was in? Fletch. FLETCH! Fletch. And June, that was the sixth month! He scrawled in his binder as he deciphered the meaning behind the email address.

Chevy dot 6 at angelfire dot com =

That viper! She was involved. How and why could she have been so stupid as to give Dryden her email address, and actually send him an email from her own account. He looked at his paper where he had scibbled Melissa's paraphrased version of it. She was obviously referring to the video of Goren and Eames in order to upset Dryden.

_You've lost him now David. The only place you can get over this is in heaven. _It seemed as though Fletcher was trying to incite Dryden to suicide. Why would she do something like that?

He couldn't move on this yet. Not until Trevor had hacked into her email account. Once that video file was deleted, he'd hand over any remaining contents of June's account over to Ross. Goren looked up suddenly aware of his fluorescent-lit surroundings and dashed out of the interview room towards the two dectectives who were both staring at laptop screens. They sensed him coming, and both looked up.

"Nichols, Wheeler, I've got to go see Eames."

"Are you sure? Craven is on his way apparently. He's being cooperative. He won't know what hit him," responded Wheeler with confidence.

Goren shook his head. "My cell's on. Keep me informed. I'll be back as soon as I can. I'm confident you'll break him."

Wheeler looked stunned, whereas Nichols merely gave him a nod goodbye as Goren threw his brown leather jacket and matching binder under one arm and strode off. Goren knew he would have felt impotent watching the interrogation of Craven without being able to be a part of it. In any case, there were other fish to fry.

He all of a sudden found himself face to face with the other fish as he walk towards the elevator entrance, – a barracuda to be more specific. The narration of an Animal Planet documentary rang though his head as ADA June Fletcher approached him. _Barracudas are voracious, opportunistic predators relying on surprise and short bursts of speed to overtake their prey. They feed primarily on fish, but kill and consume larger prey by tearing chunks of flesh._

He clung more tightly to his binder, protective of the contents within. The busty brunette barracuda, clad in a white Versace skirt suit, soon closed in on him. He was not sure how she'd behave towards him. Displeased didn't adequately describe the way she'd reacted when he'd turned down her offer of dinner during their last encounter. When she'd suggested that his refusal was because of his feelings for Eames, he had simply walked away from her dismissively.

"Detective Goren! It's a relief to see you. Are you all right? She reached her manicured claws up to touch his now only slightly swollen forehead. He didn't flinch and feigned a diffident sort of pleasure in seeing her.

"June. It's just an allergy –nothing much. Look, I was just headed out. I'm off the Dryden case now. " He deliberately used her first name instead of his usual 'Ms Fletcher' She seemed pleased.

Goren realized that he was being checked out, and it wasn't the first time she'd done it either. He felt like a zoo exhibit as she roamed her eyes over his body, taking all of him in, lingering her gaze on his jeans just south of his belt. He now had no doubt that she had viewed the video files. He felt nauseous and angry, but didn't allow this to surface.

"Why are you here June, is this about the Dryden suicide?"

"Oh I'm not here about him, but rather a matter of some stolen classic works art. I thought you were assigned to the Picasso case, but with your partner out of action, I guess not. How is she by the way? Relieved Dryden's gone I'm sure." Her sympathy would seem genuine to the untrained eye.

"Thanks for your concern. I think she's out of the woods now," Goren replied giving her a fleeting interested glance, before hiding it once more.

She touched his bare forearm in response, and gave a gentle squeeze of sympathy. "That's good to hear," she said in a husky voice. "The sooner you two are back making my ass look good, the better."

He saw his shot, though she'd probably set it up deliberately. "I doubt you need _my_ help with that June." He had the sense to look contrite so he didn't seem too out-of-character. He pressed the button and the elevator doors slid open almost immediately. As he entered the empty elevator, he sensed his ass being evaluated. He turned around to face her, and she suddenly grabbed on to his forearm once again.

"I'm sorry about what I said to you last time I was here detective Goren. It was out of line."

He looked into her dark eyes with sincerity and raised his eyebrows. "Apology accepted." The closing elevator doors caused her to withdraw her hand. He did not break their mutual gaze until the doors were fully closed.

She_ must really have it bad for me, _he thought. That flummoxed him. June Fletcher could attract virtually any man she desired. Why would she set her sights him? He decided he didn't need to know exactly _why_. He just wondered how he could use her attraction to his advantage to get every last megabyte of that footage back. Deleting the email would not be enough for his peace of mind. She could have made a copy already. Then there was the matter of needing to uncover her motive for sending an ever-so-gentle message encouraging a mentally ill and imprisoned man to kill himself.

He knew he was off the case, but the matter of the video was personal, and he couldn't let it go. He was going to have to discuss with Eames how best to play this. He knew his partner had intended to chat to June one-on-one claiming that it was 'a girl thing'. Eames could be right on the money. In any case, he needed to discuss this new development with her. He strode through the carpark to the SUV with purpose. He was headed back to the hospital.


	22. ER

**A/N - This is the 2nd chapter I've posted in the past 24 hours, so check that you've read the previous one. **

**Warnings: Descriptions of very disturbing violence, and a smattering of fairly bad language. **

* * *

><p>Goren was welcomed by the sliding doors which indicated the entrance of East Chisholm Memorial. Shortly after, his world went into slow motion as he almost instantly found himself staring at the desperate face of Corrections Office Charles Craven, who was running through the waiting room towards the exact space that Goren was currently occupying.<p>

_Eames!_ Was Goren's first thought.

Goren's binder dropped to the ground as he reached for his weapon. The movement attracted Craven's attention, and Goren saw the man's desperate eyes widen in recognition. Craven promptly spun around and began to sprint back the way he came.

"NYPD - hands in the air Craven!" Goren demanded in a measured but urgent tone. He was well aware that he was pointing his gun at an unarmed man, and that his badge was not clearly visible. He was also conscious of the fact that he was in a busy hospital waiting room with more than a dozen civilians present, one of who was now screaming in terror as she dived to the floor.

Craven ignored the command, and viciously kicked at the crying woman in an attempt to move her away from the doorway, before disappearing down the corridor. Goren lost precious seconds shuffling around the fallen woman, banishing his instinct to help her. Goren's legs and eyes morphed into powerful tools as he pounded down the slippery hospital surface in hot pursuit. But as he reached the end of the white corridor, he had no way of knowing whether Craven had gone left or right. There was no sign of him in either direction.

Goren spied a nurse who was staring wide-eyed at the hallway that led to the right. "NYPD!" he yelled, as he veered to the right. He caught the tail end of Craven ducking into a patient's room. Goren approached with caution, not knowing if he was armed.

Craven found himself enclosed in the confining hospital room, and it felt like a fucking tomb. He knew it was over. It was all over! And it was all because that shithead Dryden had decided at the last moment that he didn't want to die after all. Craven had overheard ADA Fletcher on a recent visit trying to push Dryden to kill himself, but he'd never openly discussed it with her. After all, it had clashed with his plans to whore the kid out to all and sundry -then Dryden had got too big for his boots and started to try out a bit of blackmail on him. So he stole Fletcher's idea for himself.

Telling Dryden that detective Goren had been killed by the poison almost convinced the kid to string himself up, but not quite; Dryden started to beg for his life. The Rikers fire alarm had already been ringing out for several minutes, and there were a lot of people moving around the block. Craven found himself with no choice but to force the act. However, he had stupidly taken off his leather gloves in order to secure a stronger knot, leaving his DNA all over the rope. Then he had kicked the bucket from under the kid, and watched with detached fascination as Dryden dangled and choked in a morbid dance for just a few second before his neck snapped.

Craven understood now that a Medical Examiner or a forensics team would almost certainly be able to detect his assistance in the death. He knew his head would be served on a rusty platter for what he'd done, and he comprehended that his very first night jail would likely be his last. The other inmates would make sure of it the moment they found out his occupation. No, there was no exit this time. Bubba Lawless would make sure of that. He'd already indicated his intention to lag about the false fire alarm Craven had instructed him to set off. The fucker would probably even get a year cut off his sentence at his upcoming court date. So this afternoon, instead of going into One Police Plaza to give a statement as he was supposed to, he found himself driving home to get the poison to finish off Detective Eames once and for all. After all, if it hadn't been for her, he'd be enjoying his retirement in Bermuda by now. Instead he was facing the prospect of spending the rest of his days in a New York prison cell. And that was only if his roomy didn't decide to assassinate him.

And now her hulking partner was just outside- alive and well, but armed and pissed. Craven felt a surge of power through his system. If he was going to be taken out, it would happen _his_ way.

"Stand back Craven!" demanded Goren's from behind the door.

"Don't come in! I'll kill the old woman in here. I swear I will."

The threat bought Craven a couple more seconds, and he used them to move towards the sole patient of the room. She was a feeble elderly woman who was snoozing soundly in a recliner. On her lap lay some knitting needles, red wool, and a shiny silver pair of sewing scissors. Craven reached for the scissors and shielded his body behind the recliner. He aimed the pointy end of the blades at the sleeping woman's jugular with his right hand, and reached into his pocket with his left; his fingers closed around the body-warmed object within. He then watched as the door slowly swung open. The detective's huge hands, which were clasped around his gun, were visible first. Then the rest of him entered. His eyes assessed the room, and after sizing up the situation, Goren's vengeful dark eyes fixed on Craven's.

Charles met his gaze with an unfathomable poise, and he tightened his grip around the silver scissor blades. "C'mon Detective Goren. There's no need for any more bloodshed."

Goren's hands started to tremble lightly as his finger jiggled over the trigger. "Did you hurt her Craven?" he demanded to know. Both men recognized that he was referring to Eames, and not the still-sleeping woman sitting between them. Goren took one deliberate step forward. "Put * your weapon * down *" His syllables were spaced evenly. Craven sensed that Goren would shoot without much more provocation. The sudden sound of a phone ringing from the detective's pocket gave Craven the chance to duck down a little lower behind the recliner.

Goren sensed a jerking movement on Craven's left side, though he couldn't see the man's hands or anything below the neck. Goren squinted in wonder as Craven's pupils dilated, then shrank in a strange bending movement. Goren' phone stopped ringing, and there was a deathly silence as Craven attempted to train his weak eerie gaze on Goren's dark eyes. He opened his white thin lips.

"Alexandra Eames! I'll see that cunt in hell!" Craven's last words were not of his children, but on the object of his vengeance. Not two seconds after the vitriol left his throat, his body tumbled heavily onto the floor.

Goren was startled by his words and his collapse. He approached cautiously as Craven's body went limp, and foamy saliva dripped down his beard. Goren bent down and saw a syringe sticking out of his thigh.

Sa_ccinylcholine, _he thought.

Goren felt for Craven's pulse with his right hand, and maintained a hold on his weapon with his left. He detected the final two feeble beats the dead man's heart produced. He knew he should check on the old woman too, but he didn't. He could see her chest rising and falling, and that was enough.

Was Eames alive, or had he injected her too?

Goren was instantly upright and running up the first fire exit he saw, holstering his gun. He scaled each flight of stairs to Eames' second floor room. He did not, would not, think the worst. There was no guard outside; the door was open, and her bed was empty. He felt icy fingers grip his heart as he surveyed every corner of the room. She wasn't anywhere. The chemicals of the freshly mopped floor were penetrating his nasal cavity and clouding his brain. He ran back into the hall.

"EAMES!" he yelled. "EEEAMES!" His thundering voice echoed through the hospital, reverberating his terror around and around. He heard a feeble masculine patient's voice emanating from an adjoining room. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"

The humanity in the man's voice broke Goren's panicked trance as it dawned on him that this was Eames' _old_ room. Her hospital room had been changed after Ross had demanded one without a window! Which floor was she on? Goren spied an approaching male orderly, who promptly dropped his tray of instruments upon spotting the giant, wild looking man. The metal implements clattered to floor, producing a sound akin to hell's chiming bells.

Goren lifted the flap of his long leather jacket, so his badge clipped his belt was visible. "NYPD. Which floor is officer Adams on?" He had no idea if officer Adams was on duty, but that was the only name that came to his head. The white-uniformed orderly slowly pointed his index finger up to the ceiling like ET wanting to phone home. "Third floor" He croaked out. Goren nodded and flew back up the fire stairs like a bat out of hell. He took the slippery gray stairs three at a time, his black boots barely touching the ground. He found himself in the corridor and looked to the left, and to the right.

"EAMES?" He bellowed out her name again with no less urgency. "EEEAMES!" His mind was recalling scenes of her abduction three years ago.

"Goren?" It was slow; it was muffled, but it was definitely her. She was alive! He sailed down the corridor towards her voice like a ship to a beacon. He rounded the corner and she was before him like a frilled, burgundy oasis. Behind her was Adams, but Goren ignored the cop. All he was aware of was her face. Time froze as their eyes connected like magnets.

He reached out for her and drew her in to his chest with his strong arms, smothering her and breathing in the scent her hair. "You're safe! You're alive. I thought that…" He gripped her upper arms with his strong hands and pushed her away just far enough to allow him to press his closed lips urgently against her mouth.

Their faces broke apart. She looked up at him, her eyes sober. "Craven's here in the hospital. Adams has called it in."

Goren couldn't quite let go of his hold on Eames as he glanced over at the young blond officer, who was looking around bashfully and scratching his head. Adams spoke up, "He came to the door asking to see Detective Eames. The suspect became agitated when I wouldn't let him past. I recognized him from your description, and tried to detain him. He ran for it. I opted not pursue him because I had been instructed to stay with her at all times, so I called it in."

Goren heard him, but looked back at Eames as he responded. "I ran into Craven downstairs. He injected himself with a fatal dose of poison; the effect was instant." He watched her reaction as she came to realize that Craven had come with the intention of injecting her before his plans had changed. She shook her head in anguish.

"Oh God Goren, will you take me home?" she whispered.

He hugged her to him once more and stroked her head to comfort her. Police sirens could now be heard approaching the hospital, and they competed with Goren's ringing cell phone. "Soon baby, I promise," he assured her. They were both oblivious to Adams' gawking. Goren recognized Nichols' number, and took the call. He began to explain the afternoon's events to his colleague.

The idea of taking her home right now was just wishful thinking. She had been ordered by Doctor Ryan to stay one more night in the hospital. They knew there would be more statements to give on multiple fronts, and more questions, questions, questions. They looked into each others eyes and communicated in that unique mute language they shared. They were both exhausted, and desired nothing more than to be alone (together) . But they were Major Case Detectives, and each had been through worse situations than this one. They would follow this through as long as it took. Goren finally relinquished her warm body and walked towards Adams. He extended his hand and the young officer shook it firmly. "Good work Adams. I appreciate your staying at your post, and not leaving in pursuit of Craven. It was the right call."

He nodded. "Well I'm glad it worked out Detective Goren sir, but there's no need to thank me; I was just doing my job."

Goren nodded back in approval. He had found a kindred cop.

It was almost 10pm by the time he took Eames by the hand and led her back to her hospital bed after several exhausting hours of relentless police procedure. Goren retrieved his blessed binder back from the waiting room, and soon afterwards Nichols arrived with a good portion of the Major Case detectives in tow, although Megan Wheeler and Captain Ross were not among them. Detective Nichols proceeded to take statements from all parties, bar the old woman who had slept soundly throughout the ordeal, knitting resting on her lap. She did request more scissors, and was not impressed hers had been seized in evidence.

Nichols hypothesized that it must have been Craven who planted the paralytic drug in Eames' alcohol bottles. A search of the corrections officer's home was to be conducted the following day with special attention to be given to any computer equipment or cell-phones. Eames glanced at Goren in alarm when that was mentioned, but he shook his head reassuringly. He hoped he was right in presuming that only June Fletcher had a copy of the footage. Still, he was relieved that Nichols was in charge. He hadn't known him long, but he was impressed as he watched the man at work.

Ross soon turned up and informed his detectives that Rodgers had carried out a preliminary examination on Dryden's body and, though it was still off-the-record, it seemed more likely it would be ruled a murder than a suicide. Goren kept quiet on that front. He knew he was legally and morally obligated to mention June Fletcher's email, but he simply would not act on it until that video file was deleted from the account. Besides, if Craven _had_ murdered Dryden, then June's email wasn't immediately pertinent.

He clutched his binder with the details of the email firmly ensconced within. It seemed that his obligations to Eames ranked above his obligations to the department. And he recognized that this would always be so. Nonetheless, he was confident June would soon get what was coming to her. He gazed over at his partner, who was clearly exhausted and weakened by the afternoon's drama. She was a woman with a very strong constitution, and seeing her like this worried him. How long lasting would the effects of the honey be? Goren made the decision not to worry her any further tonight. He would reveal the new information he had on Fletcher in the morning.

He did not want to leave Eames alone in the hospital that night. Besides which, a CSU team had been ordered to process Goren's apartment and check for toxins as well as any other evidence pertaining to Dryden's break and enter. Wheeler was right now in Brooklyn overseeing the operation; she'd put in a long day and he sympathized with that. She probably wanted to get home and be with the father of her unborn child, but she'd volunteered to do it.

So when Wheeler called and tentatively asked Goren whether it would help him out to send out his laundry and suits to be cleaned, he found himself reluctantly assenting to her request. She must have noticed his non-standard wardrobe today; she was a detective after all. It seemed that support for Goren was crawling out of the woodwork, and he didn't have the strength to refuse it right now.

Adams had been taken off the door of Eames' room, and that was one more reason for Goren to stay the night. He knew the danger was over, but he just couldn't leave her alone. He sat down on the uncomfortable visitor's chair as she lay in the bed and closed her eyes, blocking out the harsh lighting. He adjusted her blanked a little higher. She didn't ask him to go home. It wasn't the first time he had stayed up all night watching over her hospital bed. He hoped it would be the last.

Doctor Ryan entered the room and sighed with frustration. She didn't appear to be as harsh as usual, but she had obviously stayed far past the end of her shift. "You should get going detective Goren. You've had a stressful day." The doctor's voice was suddenly soft and feminine. Goren didn't look at her or give a verbal reply; he just shook his head in a firm and clear refusal. The doctor vacated the room, releasing another sigh. This time it was in resignation.

Ten minutes later he was disturbed by a young male orderly entering the room; it was not the same one he had startled on the second floor earlier in the day. Eames stirred and opened her eyes and closed them again. Goren turned and raised one finger to his lips, indicating to the orderly to keep quiet.

The orderly whispered, "Doctor Ryan asked me to bring in a visitor's cot so you can spend the night more comfortably. Goren stood up as the orderly folded out the cot. It was small and lower than the hospital bed, but it looked inviting anyway. It was better than army issue at any rate. With the events of the past couple of days, Goren was feeling high levels of fatigue, and he was hungry. More than that, he needed to sleep. The orderly passed him the bedding and pillow, and Goren thanked him, indicating with a gesture that he would make the bed up himself. The orderly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Goren lifted the chair out of the way and made up the cot. After he was done, he lined it up right alongside her bed. He could see that she was still in that mysterious realm that existed between waking and sleeping. He turned off the light and the room was transformed from bright white to inky darkness. He crept towards the undersized cot. As he lay down, it groaned under his bulk, and it wasn't nearly long enough for someone of his height. But he soon curled his legs and settled on his side so he could be nearer to her face. He could hear her breath changing. Slowly, her hand extended outwards in the dark, seeking his. His hand located hers, and he squeezed it lovingly. "I'm glad you're in this world Eames," he whispered. So many people had tried to take her from it, but she'd foiled them all. She was still breathing.

"And I'm glad you're beside me," she replied, giving a reciprocal squeeze.

It was pitch dark in the empty and windowless hospital room, but it was bright and full to bursting with the light of their love.


	23. The Four Seasons: Part One

A/N Thanks 'sell' for your special brand of motivation. It worked!

* * *

><p>It was an hour before sunset when Alex was finally released from hospital. She'd had an inordinate amount of medical tests, but Doctor Ryan finally relinquished her unusually afflicted patient to her hovering and anxious partnerboyfriend. There was one condition however, that Ms Eames submit to follow-up blood tests over the next few weeks. Doctor Ryan was glad that all the drama in her hospital was over, though she had to admit to herself that she had developed a fondness for the two detectives. There was just something very endearing about that seemingly odd couple.

* * *

><p>After waking up next to her hospital bed in his uncomfortable cot at 6am, Bobby was dismayed to find out that Alex might not be released until the afternoon. Nevertheless, he used the day fruitfully. He spent most of the morning at Major Case, clearing up the details of Craven's death. Wheeler and Nichols had headed off to Rikers to interview tagged inmates and staff, so Goren visited Rodgers to get an autopsy report on Dryden. He didn't get to see the body, as it had already been shipped to the morgue. The ME and forensics confirmed that David Dryden had indeed been murdered.<p>

Goren found a sealed envelope waiting for him on his work desk. He opened it to find copies of the crime scene photos. He examined them and was surprised on two counts. First, he was surprised to find himself still holding a kernel of sympathy for the young and mentally ill Dryden. If he'd only gotten the help he needed. Second, he was astonished to see Dryden's choice in wardrobe. He called Eames at the hospital immediately.

She had almost blown a gasket when he told her that David Dryden was found hanging from the laundry storeroom wearing what was most certainly Goren's missing navy suit coat. The garment had gone astray while Goren and Eames were having cocktails after work several nights previously – the first night they had made love in fact. They'd been so distracted with each other that night that Goren had barely registered its disappearance.

Eames suggested that Goren not mention the coat to Nichols or Wheeler just yet, and instead wait a day or two. There had obviously been no pressing investigative reason to test the jacket, and it could be always be checked for DNA at a later date if necessary. She then asked that Goren call Rikers to check whether Craven was on duty the night the coat had gone missing. Goren did so, and he found out that Craven was indeed working that night, and so could not have been responsible for stealing the coat. Eames wasn't surprised when she heard this. They'd already previously discussed the possibility that June Fletcher had been watching them in or around the bar that night. They'd hypothesized that after procuring the coat at around 6pm, Fletcher had visited Dryden at Rikers at 8pm for an after-hours meeting, which had been logged on the visitors' register. The strangely-timed meeting was undoubtedly under the supervision of Charles Craven. Dryden had received no other visitors in the hours leading up to his murder. June Fletcher was the only reasonable culprit for the missing coat.

Back when they'd initially speculated on this, Goren dismissed it in his mind. He had thought that June's visit on the log was irregular and the volume of her visits seemed unnecessary, but he could not understand the ADA's reasoning for meddling with Dryden in this way. They still didn't know the ADA's motive for her unethical and career-risking behavior or exactly why she'd wanted Dryden to kill himself. But Goren noted that his partner seemed as doggedly determined as he'd ever seen her to get to the bottom of it all.

As well as the crime scene photos, Goren found a dry-cleaning/laundry stub on his desk, obviously left by Wheeler. He decided he'd thank her next time she called with an update on the Rikers witnesses. In particular, he was interested in what information the inmate Bradley 'Bubba' Lawless would have to spill. Goren picked up the stub and left One Police Plaza in the direction of his Brooklyn apartment, retrieving his suits and laundry en route. He found that his place was actually more organized than when he'd left it. He'd really done a number on his bedroom, kitchen, and living room when he had torn it apart rifling around for hidden cameras, but the CSU and/or Megan Wheeler had put everything more or less back in place.

Like Eames' apartment, all foodstuff and liquids had been taken away. As he put away his pressed suits, clean sheets and towels, he noticed with disappointment that his all the vanilla condoms had disappeared too. He wondered at the reasoning behind it, but he supposed that no stone had been left unturned in searching for toxins. Preliminary tests showed that his apartment was clean. He had known that would be the case, but he also understood that a thorough check had been necessary. He changed into a navy T-shirt, navy boxers and black jeans. He packed an overnight bag with three changes of clothes. He hoped he'd be allowed to stay at Alex's apartment for quite a while.

Bobby decided to call Logan and meet him for a late lunch. He grabbed his bag, his binder, his brown leather jacket and his wallet on the way out.

* * *

><p>After an productive afternoon with Logan, and a quick visit to the liquor store, a chocolateria, and a drugstore, he finally made his way to East Chisolm Memorial to pick up Eames.<p>

Ross had insisted on Bobby taking a week's annual leave, and he had accepted the near command without protest. He knew Ross needed time to figure out how he was going to handle the 'fraternization' issue that had just come to the fore. By and large, Goren was satisfied to have a week off. His only focus right now was on Eames. He needed to locate and destroy the video files and he needed to ensure that she felt safe and secure in her apartment. Last but not least, he needed to make love to her, and he knew that seven days would be barely enough time scratch the surface of his burgeoning desire. Two nights had passed since they'd deepened their connection, and he now possessed an almost desperate want to be with her again.

He looked over at her nestled in the car seat beside him. He was surprised that she'd agreed to go shotgun for change. He could see that what was on his mind – **sex** – was obviously not on hers. She looked so lovely in the late afternoon light clad in brown velvet-textured jeans and a long-sleeved black cotton blouse, but her expression looked apprehensive.

He guessed that her mind was going over her plan to draw and quarter June Fletcher.

Goren had called Alex again just after his lunch with Logan a few hours ago, and Logan had spoken to her as well. Together, the three wrapped their heads around the details of Eames' scheme, and Goren found himself reluctantly relinquishing control to them. This over-protective streak in the both of them annoyed him slightly; however, he _was_ completely on board with the plan. He looked at his pensive partner.

"So what time's Carver coming over with the dossier?" Bobby asked.

She looked up in annoyance at the interruption of her trance. "10am," she replied. She told Bobby that she'd phoned Carver the previous night, and that the former counselor was going to personally deliver some information he had on Fletcher that could help them out. Bobby was satisfied with the scheduled timing of Carver's visit. That meant they'd alone until ten the next morning. That was almost seventeen hours away. He was not honestly thinking of filling those hours with sleeping or eating at this point. There were other activities that interested him more.

Bobby's stomach was still full after sharing nachos and a couple of light beers with Logan. Mike had given Goren a congratulatory punch in the upper arm when Goren confessed the monumental turn his personal life had taken. He was grateful that Mike had kept his comments respectful, and the innuendo to a minimum. Bobby could tell that Logan had even seemed a little envious. Goren hoped that one day that Mike would also find somebody to be by his side.

After Logan had found out the ADA had a copy of Goren and Eames up-close-and-personal first encounter, Mike had without hesitation offered to aid their revenge in a number of legal and illegal ways. Goren had drawn the line when Logan had practically insisted on pimping himself out to June Fletcher in order to raid her apartment for any potential copies she might have made. Although whoring out Logan's ass was out of the question, he and Eames had gratefully accepted his offer of help all the same. After hatching a viable plan, he had taught Logan a trick or two in preparation for his part in handling ADA Fletcher in the meeting Eames had arranged with her for the following day.

"Bobby?" Eames interrupted his reflections.

He glanced at her with alarm; her voice sounded hesitant.

"What is it?" he asked with concern. He was worried that she still looked a little pale and worn out.

She sought to reassure him. "It's nothing much…stupid really, but I thought I should tell you anyway." She was trying to be dismissive and was looking out the passenger window, chewing on a thumbnail. "It's just that…Carver, he offered me a job yesterday, right over the phone. He said his practice is doing really well – defending the innocent and all that. He wants me to do investigative work full-time so he can stop paying outrageous consultancy fees. I'm not considering it of course. I just thought I should tell you in case it comes up tomorrow. "

Ron Carver's practice had been building quite a reputation and Carver was picky about the types of cases and associates he took on. He particularly relished going into battle for clients whose arrests and convictions had been marred by incompetent police or lawyers. His specialty was launching appeals, but this required new evidence. He couldn't do it all by himself, and he knew that having someone as well-respected and talented as Eames on board would only help his practice grow. Carver understood that his outstanding reputation had been in no small part due to working with Eames at Major Case over the years. She and Goren's work practically ensured smooth, high profile convictions for him in court. Eames was also very good at testifying, and her words had convinced many a jury. Carver held her in very high regard, and really wanted to poach her from the unappreciative NYPD.

The steering wheel jerked just slightly as Bobby's tension rose at this news of a job offer. "He did?" He caught himself and straightened the wheel. "Well I'm not surprised Eames. _I'd _hire you in a heartbeat." He flashed her a smiled, but his sunglasses masked the concern in his eyes.

She smiled. "Thanks Bobby." It was said without sarcasm. "It was flattering to be asked. He said he'd exceed my salary by 10K, and I'd get health insurance and benefits. I'd have better hours too - not that I'm thinking of taking it of course," she added abruptly.

He noted that it was the second time she'd insisted she wasn't interested. He pressed her further. "You wouldn't consider it?" he asked.

"No." She sighed because she _had_ in fact started to consider it, and it both depressed and excited her at the same time. The truth was that she didn't love being a Major Case detective as much as she used to. She was still mad at the brass for the way they had treated Bobby after the Tates incident. Sure his investigation hadn't been sanctioned, but his motive was trying to protect the innocent from being abused, and there was his nephew to consider. They should have understood that a cop would do almost anything for his family. Hell, Ross should have insisted that the whole fucking department get behind Bobby, but he hadn't. It was all about politics, and Ross had to protect his own ass or be thrown out on it.

The department was quite happy roll out "Goren and Eames" whenever an urgent case came up, and then take the credit for their success in the press. That was OK with her, it's what they were paid by the people to do. But in exchange, the department deliberately tried to keep him in an insecure and desperate state. They led him to believe that they were going to drop the guillotine at any given moment. The Chief of Detectives had even once referred to him a 'whack job' in public. Goren was the only one who maintained his integrity in the Kevin Quinn case, and he only got condemnation for his righteous actions. Moran never showed any acknowledgment for what Goren did, had always done, for the NYPD. But the chief was more than willing to risk Goren's life in a dangerous undercover operation in order to 'earn' back his shield.

Basically, the department treated him like shit, and their lack of regard for his well-being had practically done him in. He was so reticent about being fired, that he had lost the level of care and empathy for the victims and the criminals that he once had. 'Goren and Eames' were still getting the results, there was no doubt about that, but it was different somehow. There had been a detachment about Goren lately that she really didn't like, and she could tell that the personal nature of this Dryden case would not be easy for him to recover from. There had been too many such cases where either, or both of their lives had been put at risk.

She used to want nothing more than to move up the ranks, but recently she realized that she was as high up the lader as she wanted to go. She wouldn't trade places with Ross for anything. Handing in her papers was not her preference however. She now found herself wanting what Goren had always wanted - to be left alone to do what she did best- work with her partner to solve crimes. The thought of not being able to do that scared the hell out of her.

She was fairly anxious about the potential ramifications of Bobby's having just given a statement which outlined his assault on David Dryden at Rikers. She honestly wished that she had prevented him from making that statement, but she could see that he felt the need to be upfront and ethical about it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Craven, the only witness, was dead. And Dryden hadn't committed suicide, so Bobby's assault on Dryden would not be seen as a contributor to his demise. But she was concerned all the same. Goren had only struck Dryden because he had threatened her life. And it was only after Goren had hit him, that Dryden had hinted at his poison honey plot. That punch, and Bobby's investigative skills, had inadvertently saved her from a painful death. Surely Moran would understand that.

She glanced sideways at Goren and could see his lips twitching. He was chewing them a little and his brow was deeply wrinkled. She noticed that his knuckles were almost white as he maintained a deathly grip on the steering wheel. She sought to reassure him."I mean it Bobby. I wouldn't consider Carver's offer unless…"

"Unless you needed a plan B?" he finished.

"Exactly! It's only smart to always have a plan B," replied Eames.

He had no idea of exactly what was on her mind. He just knew that if their video ever surfaced, her career with the NYPD would become untenable. It wouldn't matter to anyone that they'd been the victims of stalking, all that would matter would be the fact that she was naked and in bed with her partner – the infamous whack job Robert Goren. There had always been rumors surrounding them, and this would give the snipers the ammunition they'd long wanted.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to watch the video, but he had his memories, and he knew from the thumbnails on the files that the footage was definitely explicit. He felt revolted at the thought that June Fletcher had watched them make love, and he had no doubt that she had done so. He only hoped to God that the footage would stop with her. If their plan didn't work tomorrow, he intended to do absolutely everything in his power to make sure the footage never saw the light of day.

Bobby paused, and then came clean with his own job offer. "Speaking of Plan B's, Logan keeps bugging me to partner with him in his PI firm. He's doing pretty well apparently."

She hesitated and took a breath. "Yeah, I've heard he's doing pretty good." She kept her tone neutral. This piece of news was no surprise to her. Goren had mentioned this same offer couple of months ago when he came back after his compassionate leave. They'd made light of it at the time, but now the idea didn't seem so far-fetched. She knew that Logan had also offered Wheeler a similar deal, but she was busy with her upcoming baby. Eames nodded to herself, and stared out of the front windshield. "Alright. So we both have a plan B in case the shit hits the fan. That's a good thing Bobby, even if it's totally subjunctive." She threw that word in just because she thought he'd get a kick out of it.

"Yeah." was all he said.

And their mutual silence was their cue to end that particular uncomfortable conversation for now. Neither was ready to ponder the possibility that they might be prevented from working together for any number of reasons beyond their control. They both lost themselves in their private thoughts under the guise of contemplating the busy road ahead of them. Approaching vehicles were starting to turn on their headlights as day fell to evening.

After ten more minutes into their now-silent drive back to Forest Hills, the sun finally went to bed. And Bobby wanted only to follow suit. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. In the fading light, he fixed his gaze on her and she met his eyes. He posed her a frank yet silent question that had been on his mind since he picked her up from the hospital.

_Do you want to have sex tonight?_ his eyes inquired.

He really needed to mentally and physically prepare himself if she did not want him climbing all over her every which way the second her apartment door closed. He longed to take her on her satin sheets that she must have bought for him. He was turned on to an embarrassing degree by the mere thought of making love to her in a bed where no other man had been admitted.

But he could well understand if she didn't feel ready just yet. He could tell that she was still feeling the effects of fatigue from botanical poison, and the fact that their first sexual encounter had not been private…well he really couldn't blame her for not wanting this again so soon. It was all so new between them. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what he wanted tonight, but felt the need to prepare himself in advance if her answer was 'no'. The new pack of condoms he had picked up from the pharmacy were resting in his jeans' pocket, and he could feel them conspiring. They wanted nothing more than to get to work like good little soldiers under the command of their colonel.

To be honest, he felt a bit sleazy for his ungentlemanly mind-set. But it was truly the love and connection with her that he yearned for, not merely fucking – though admittedly that wouldn't be completely unpleasant either. God he couldn't wait! It had only been two nights since he'd finally had her, and that was far too long. Since he'd bedded her, he found himself almost unconsciously walking more erect, and with more confidence. It was as though he'd found a new purpose in life, and it was to wreak pleasure upon her body, and while doing so, partake in his own.

* * *

><p>Eames looked at him and she felt herself start to blush. His eyes were undeniably asking her for sex, and they were almost back at her apartment. She understood his unvoiced ocular language even though this particular piece of vocabulary was fairly new to them. The sultry look in his dilated pupils said it all. She took in a quick breath. He clearly <em>really<em> wanted to have her again. She maintained a fleeting eye contact with his sex-struck deep brown irises. His look sent a thrill to her soul, not to mention…other areas, and she felt her anticipation build. Her response to his question was non-verbal, and instead took the form of a hand on his knee. She enclosed his black denim clad kneecap in her fingers, and the way she did it indicated that her answer was obviously in the affirmative.

He closed his briefly eyes to savor the contact, even though it was only through his jeans. What would her touch feel like on naked skin? The steering wheel jerked once more under his hands before he got it back under control.

She watched this little show with unveiled amusement. She kept her voice light and factual as she responded verbally. "I want something to eat and to take a bath first. I'm a little tense after being cooped up for so long, and I smell like hospital."

He merely nodded…and pressed down on the accelerator.

He stepped out of Lewis's car, and hurried around the other side to open the door for her. He had no wish to coddle her, but he did want to pamper her; he was going to have to walk a fine line between the two tonight. He carried her small hospital bag, and his own overnight bag which had a little cool-pack inside consisting of fine dark couverture chocolate, and a bottle of costly champagne to her front door. He could feel her reticence as she placed the key in the lock and turned it. He observed her reaction as they stepped inside the entrance. He noted that as soon as she glanced around inside, all her uncertainty disappeared.

The atmosphere was warm and inviting and the thermostat was set to a comfortable level. There were plates and cutlery lain on the small dining table, along with white candles in delicate silver candle-holders, and a white-lace table cloth. Goren put down the bags and hung up his jacket, and they both explored the kitchen. Eames opened her cupboards to find them groaning with with capers, pate, and a fresh loaf of pumpkin bread among other gourmet treats. A fruit bowl containing passionfruit, bananas, avocados, and an aromatic papaya was resting on the counter. The fragrance of the tropical fruit was wafting around the kitchen. Amusingly, Eames located a small light blue packet of tropical skittles nestled among the fruit.

The refrigerator and freezer held even more surprises as they surveyed the contents within. There were trays of gourmet meals, pear and rhubarb ice-cream, and a fresh batch of homemade apple crumble. Front and center in the fridge was a dish Goren quickly identified as chicken cacciatore – the black olives poking out on top were the giveaway.

"Geez Goren. This is amazing! I can't believe it!" exclaimed Eames.

Goren couldn't believe it either. Liz had outdone herself, and they were both taken aback at her generosity and thoughtfulness. He made up his mind to call her and thank her at some point. Eames was so deserving of it all, and he was a little regretful for not having had the time to do it himself.

Alex left the room, and Bobby occupied himself by locating a pot in which to heat the dinner. He had been worried he'd have to get takeaway tonight, but the two generous serves of chicken cacciatore would do nicely. He found a bottle of fine white wine in the fridge door, which Liz had obviously chosen to accompany the chicken. He also noticed a snaplock bag of asparagus and smiled slightly. He wasn't entirely convinced that it was just a coincidence that Liz had chosen a vegetable that was considered an aphrodisiac as their potential side-dish. He transferred the cacciatore into a pot, and filled a smaller saucepan with water to boil the asparagus. While everything was heating, he hunted around for olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper. .

While Bobby was in his element in the kitchen, Alex wandered into the bedroom. Her fresh satin sheets were still on the bed; she had asked Liz not to change them. Alex then rifled through her drawers to check if anything was amiss. After all, Dryden, Craven, a CSU team as well as Goren and Liz had already been inside her apartment. With the exception of the latter two, she was pissed that her privacy had been invaded once again. She'd moved to Forest Hills to escape the vivid memories of her blind and terrifying abduction on that dark night in Rockaway over three years ago.

Since her move to this place, she was almost certain that Mulrooney had once been in this apartment, though he had never admitted as such. And now Dryden and Craven had entered her sanctuary too. Being a high-profile detective certainly did have its drawbacks. She honestly felt like moving again, but her stubborn streak did not want to let this affect her. She was determined to make pleasant memories in this place – starting tonight.

She went to her lingerie drawer and slid it open. Goren liked texture. This she knew from having observed him in such close proximity over the years, and his recent fixation on her ruffled browse had not escaped her notice. She started to wonder if he didn't have a light leaning towards sexual fetishism. It didn't bother her in the slightest if he did; in fact, she was eager to find out the kinds of colors, objects, scents, designs, textures, tastes and sounds that would stimulate him. He was a clearly man whose senses were heightened beyond the ordinary. The orange juice incident in her kitchen the other night served to illustrate just how vibrant and vital a man he really was. Her body quivered internally in response to the memory. She was going to find out even more about what he enjoyed tonight, and she planned to take him by surprise. She had already cooked up a few outlandish ideas on how to draw out the true nature of his sexual proclivities. She selected a pair of pale pink French knickers with a small loose frill around the upper thigh area of each leg, and a matching lacy bra. The thought that she would soon discover ways to awaken his arousal was exciting. He had been so dull and listless since his family tragedies, but she could see signs that he was coming out of hibernation.

In truth, the same could be said for her. She had cut herself off from her sexuality for so long, and her libido was now dictating that she do some serious catching up. It was ridiculous that after almost ten years, that there was so much she still didn't know about him. She was a little nervous at the roller-coaster she knew was ahead, but she wanted to be in the front car holding hands with him because the knew it would be the best vantage point to enjoy the ride. She had to take risk with him tonight. She knew he loved to give, but could she persuade him to accept affection unquestioningly, and to accept the apology she planned to make.

She checked her beside drawer for contraception. She found that the condoms and lubricant she had purchased had been taken away by the CSU, but Liz had obviously replaced them with a few choices of her own. Alex examined a 32-sampler pack of condoms which included ribbed, studded, colored, flavored (strawberry, cola, vanilla, fruit tingle), and micro-thin. She then picked up the other pack and read the cover of the box. It was black with a powerful silver font which read: _Trojan Magnum XL lubricated condoms: king size – wider and longer fit._ She turned the pack over to read _'Living Large'_ on the back. Alex's first thought was to kill her sister for this; she had refused to discuss Goren's anatomical assets with Liz when probed - her sister had just presumed somehow. Her second reaction was to chuckle as she imagined Liz having to place them on the drugstore counter in front of a sales' clerk. Her third response was a curious mix of apprehension coupled with erotic anticipation at a visual flash of having Goren's broad smooth granite-hard cock pumping inside her body once again while his luscious full lips macked at her mouth. She imagined gripping onto his powerful hips as she spread her legs wide and high. Oh God! Was sex with Goren really and finally happening? Yes, it was. And she was possibly more edgy about their second night together than she had been on their first. Part of it was the shocking discovery they had been filmed that night, but she was also nervous about what to expect from him. The two encounters they'd had – in his bed and on his kitchen counter – were so distinctly delicious that she didn't know quite how tonight would pan out.

She was relieved to see a tube of lubricant beside the packets of condoms. Though judging by the current state of affairs between her legs, she wasn't exactly sure if the artificial kind was going to be at all necessary. She closed the drawer firmly and carried the lingerie and two fluffy white towels to the bathroom. She couldn't believe she was in a finally in sexual relationship with him after all these years. This was going to be so very, very good for her.

Her small bathroom was bright and white and smelled like lemon pledge. Eames rested the towels and lingerie on her small white metal chair. It was probably designed as a garden chair, but its lacy intricate metal design just suited the bathroom somehow. She always kept the chair on a thick rug so the feet didn't scrape the tiles. She found such a wide variety of potions, lotions and makeup, that she knew it would take her a year or two to use them all. Liz must have spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars purchasing all this. As she tried out some lip gloss and ran a brush through her hair, Alex's eyes stung with tears at Liz's loving sisterly gesture.

"Dinner's ready!" called out Goren's deep voice from the kitchen. It felt so heartrendingly good to hear that phrase coming from him, that her welling tears of gratitude threatened to spill over. She hadn't quite realized until now that she had been lonely in her apartment. She knew that she could too easily become accustomed to having his presence at home as well as at work. He was a private and solitary man by nature. Would that be what he wanted?

She entered the kitchen to find her adorable partner smiling at her wearing a white apron with a tomato-covered wooden spoon in his hand. He looked more appetizing than any meal ever could in his navy t-shirt which perfectly displayed his bulging upper arms and strong forearms. She noted the outline of his solid thighs under the apron. His hair had the perfect amount of curl and the stubble on his chin would likely soon be exfoliating her all over. He turned around and bent down slightly to rinse the spoon in the sink, and she drank in his enticing black-jeaned buttocks where the loosely tied white apron strings dangled. He was delicious - always had been. She sauntered up behind him and cupped his firm glutes in her hands, before encircling his waist with her arms, stopping to squeeze the excess flesh on his gorgeous belly. This startled him a little, but he soon leaned back lightly to enjoy her touch.

"Ahhh Eames. I've seen better days, haven't I?." He commented, obviously referring to his weight gain.

She was puzzled because she hadn't found him at all inhibited by his own body the other night. In fact, he'd seemed supremely confident in his nudity. She on the other hand, had felt fairly self-conscious until his appreciative gaze and unmistakable lust for her body obliterated any of her hang-ups. She wanted to do the same for him.

"Do you trust my judgment Bobby?" she asked, locating his navel under the t-shirt and apron and making a circle with her thumb.

"Always," he answered as he turned off the faucet.

"Well, for nigh on a decade, I've witnessed you on all your days- both better and worse- true?"

"OK" he agreed.

She inhaled the scent of his strong Bobby-ish scent deeply through her nose. "And I can say with all honesty that you've never been more alluring than you are right now." She gave him a kiss on the upper back, deliberately releasing hot breath through his t-shirt.

"You're just saying that 'cos I'm slaving over a sink," he said sheepishly. But his voice sounded flattered.

She chortled. "No I'm saying it because my body's currently notifying me of exactly how attractive you are."

She wondered how he could not know how devastatingly desirable he really was. Melissa, Dryden, Fletcher – they'd all wanted him – and that was just three people this week! But he was somehow all hers. She roamed her hands up to his pectorals and the movement caused a sexual moan to form in his throat. She slid her arms back down to his hips and gently turned him toward her. He offered no resistance, and stood facing her with an electric glint in his eyes. She grabbed onto his neck and played with the apron strings tied behind it. She had to get up on tiptoes to pull him towards her. As he bent down to meet her, he suddenly grabbed her ass with his huge hands. In response, she initiated a licentious game of mouth play where each tried to emerged as the winner. The chicken cacciatore started to bubble and spit, matching their heat. He pulled away his lips and body first, though not before she felt his hardening cock pressing against her stomach.

"It's burning," he pointed out. She didn't know if he was referring to the dinner or their mutual ardor.

* * *

><p>It took all the self-discipline he could muster to withdraw from her because frankly, he wanted to bend her right over the kitchen sink, pull down her velvety brown jeans, and just plow into her right then and there. But because she'd earlier stated her wishes for dinner and a bath, he would just have to calm down. He tried to achieve this calm by tending to the dinner. He drained the asparagus put it on a plate, and squeezed a cut lemon on top of it, before drizzling the crisp spears with a little extra-virgin olive oil. If asparagus really did have aphrodisiac properties, then he was in trouble. He took off the apron, and brought the steaming plates to the table. She had busied herself by putting on a CD of Antonio Vivaldi's 'The Four Seasons'. He'd taken her to a symphony once, and he'd bought her the CD after the show.<p>

Eames sat at the table and waited for him to serve her. He was always the gentleman, and he suited the music that was playing. She'd always enjoyed the complementary calm and urgent variations of each season. The violins started to soothe the atmosphere, and she had already dimmed the lights so they could dine among the soft glow of the candles.

He tried not to eye-fuck her too obviously as she ate, but her unwavering insistence on staring romantically into his eyes and her vocal admiration of the taste and smell of the food didn't help matters. He drained his white wine and stabbed at some mushrooms and black olives in an attempt to distract himself. He wasn't particularly hungry after his late lunch with Logan. She seemed to find his struggles highly amusing and he could see her eyes dancing as she ate her asparagus tips. He excused himself and went to the bathroom before returning to the table.

He sat back down again opposite her and broke the thick silence. "So uh..you feel ready for tomorrow?" He was referring to the plan she'd hatched to ensnare June Fletcher.

"Can we change the subject Bobby?" She took a large sip of wine. "We'll talk about it again in the morning. OK?"

He nodded contritely. He was worried his words had effectively just killed the mood. "You want some dessert?" he asked, trying to cover his Fletcher faux pas.

"Not yet. I'm full for now, " she replied. She had finished eating and rose to clear the table.

He leaped up in response. "Let me do that!" He insisted.

She was just starting to protest when his cell rang in his pocket. The caller ID showed that it was Melissa Jordan – the young administrative officer from Brownlow College. They'd both been waiting desperately for her call.

He didn't come up with a socially-appropriate greeting to temper his direct question."Melissa. Any news?" He asked.

"Yeah, I have some real good news for you Detective Goren," she replied excitedly.

He pressed the 'speaker' button on his cell, so Alex could hear every word. She turned down the music.

Melissa proceeded to tell him that Trevor had been successful in hacking June Fletcher's web-based email account. The IT whiz had managed to open and then delete the entire account. Apparently, there had only been two emails present. The first was the video file Dryden had sent, and the second was its reply - a callous message in which the ADA had subtly tried to persuade him to take his own life.

Melissa explained that the email account was a new one, and had evidently only been opened ten days prior. Goren was disappointed that there were no further incriminating emails to nail June Fletcher with, but relieved to find out that the email company, Angelfire, did not archive deleted emails or deleted accounts on its server.

Melissa continued, "So the video file is obliterated, and Trevor saved the other weird email just in case you need it. You just let me know where to send it."

Bobby was excited. "OK, I'll text you an email address to forward it to. You're sure that's it Melissa? It's really gone?"

"Well it's gone from the world-wide-web anyway. Trevor says you should check the computers and/or smartphone of the person who owns the account, just in case the thumbnails could be in the browser cache. And of course, this person could have made copies onto a flashdrive or DVD."

"Uh huh," Goren nodded. He, Alex and Logan had already schemed over this particular problem, and had come up with a solution to combat it.

"So you happy?" asked Melissa. "Did we do good detective?" She wasn't sure that deleting the entire account had been the best course of action.

"You did real good Melissa!" He smiled at Eames who looked just as excited. " In fact," he added. "You did so well that I am going name my first-born for you." He saw Eames raise an eyebrow at that.

She gave a flirty giggle. "I think I might hold you to that detective Goren, as long as your girlfriend doesn't mind." She replied in a playful tone.

He was so euphoric that even the blood in his veins felt happy. "Thanks Melissa, and thank Trevor too."

"Oh, I'll thank him. Bye detective Goren. Go call your girlfriend."

He gave Eames a wink. "Will do. Bye."

He ended the call, and placed the cell-phone on the table. He looked at her and paused with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Ha!" He said in triumph and grasped his lover's shoulders in his large palms, planting a firm but quick kiss on her lips. "The video file's gone Eames. Deleted! Now all we need are any copies that barracuda has made, that is if she's made any at all, and we're home free." He turned up the music to find that Vivaldi was once again in the throes of Spring. Goren pulled her into his arms for a waltz, and started to rotate her around the kitchen. She let him dance for a minute or so, reveling in his joy on his countenance and his enthusiastic embrace. It wasn't so out of character as it seemed. Though it had been many years since he'd last given her a happy dance, he used to do stuff like that all the time. She smiled as she recalled one particular spontaneous groove not long after she'd come back from maternity leave. She began to feel dizzy from all the spinning, so she grabbed his hand and yanked him over to her couch. He followed obediently.

"Bobby, calm down. Sit down. It's not over yet." She said sternly, but not unkindly. He sat down on the cushions, and she sat beside him and patted his jiggling leg.

He looked at her. "But it's almost over Eames. I can feel it. It's gonna be OK."

She allowed herself to get a little caught up in his excitement. "I believe you Bobby." And she did. Eames was champing at the bit for her meeting with Fletcher the following day. She had earlier called the evil bitch of an ADA, and sweetly invited her to an informal lunch at a downtown diner which was popular with cops. Fletcher feigned a little show checking her schedule for the day, but had readily agreed to the lunch. They were both playing a game, neither quite sure of the other one's motives. But unbeknownst to Fletcher, Eames had the upper hand.

Goren was thoroughly turned on by the determined fire in Alex's eyes, and he responded to it by indecently assaulting her mouth with his lips. He didn't need to coax hers lips open because she welcomed him, and her cacciatore tongue started to probe his mouth's terrain with a surprising fervor. He leaned his weight on her in an attempt to pin her down and started to tug on her black cotton blouse, reaching under it until he was touching her bare back.

At the skin on skin contact, she shoved him back swiftly with her palms and raised her eyebrows. Her dark eyes looked serious as she recalled what he'd said to Melissa "Your first born Bobby? I hope you don't have any ideas about tonight."

He laughed faintly and looked at her innocently. "You misconstrue me Eames. I only meant that I was going to name my binder for her. You've always said I should name it."

She raised one eyebrow and regarded him as though he was a complete goofball, which was definitely justified right at this moment.

"Why 'Melissa'?" she asked in earnest.

"That's a good question Eames." He scratched his hair chin and pretended to think about it seriously. "Well she's pretty, and saves my butt, and is full of really useful information – just like my binder."

Eames played along, nodding as though that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. She knew that if Melissa hadn't called for medical help after Bobby's bee sting, both of them would probably be in a cemetery right now.

He added, "And I assure you that I fully intend to use a condom tonight Eames." _Several actually._ His mind was writing checks he hoped his tired body could cash.

She smiled with a slight roll of the eyes. He could see from her brightened gaze and complexion that she was enjoying his playfulness. And the way she smiled at him reminded him of their early partnership, before his life had gotten complicated. Before he had pushed her away. Now he could finally have fun with her, like he'd always wanted to. He was more confident now that she was going to accept all sides of him. Every flavor of skittles he revealed was going to be savored by her. Perhaps this relationship didn't have marred by anxiety. In fact, he was starting to see that it had the potential to be much more fun than he had ever imagined.

He felt liberated inside, and gave himself permission right then and there to feel young again. He had almost succeeded in convincing himself that his salad days had wilted, but they obviously hadn't. His body was awash with elation, as the thrill of simply being alive made a welcome resurgence. He felt it not only in his body, but in his mind, soul, and heart as well. He was deliriously happy. Perhaps the happiest he had ever been in his life. Tomorrow he would probably chastise himself for his seeming bipolarity, but for now he was a Mexican jumping bean. There had been an attempt on his life, and two on hers, but here they were anyway - stronger than ever. It would be a crime to feel miserable right now. It would be a crime not to make love to her right now.

He eskimo kissed her with his little nose, and butterfly kissed her with his long eyelashes and French kissed her with his tongue for good measure. He started to pin her down to the couch again.

"Bobby!" she warned, And he lamely tried to prevent her from extricating her warm body.

She pulled herself up. "I'm going to run a bath and I want you to calm down, clear the table, and wait for me in the bedroom. Can you do that?" she asked.

He loved being scolded by her when she didn't really mean it. "I can do that," he answered seriously. His eyes followed her ass as she made her way to the bathroom. She may be his senior partner, but he had never been very good at obeying orders, even in the army. As soon as he heard the door shut and the faucet running, he got up. His body was pumping with adrenaline and testosterone. There would be no calming down.

* * *

><p><strong>PART TWO OF THIS CHAPTER (the smuttier part) will be posted soon. I swear. I'm just editing it down.<br>**


	24. The Four Seasons: Part Two

**A/N - This is part two. Make sure you've read part one first**. Rated M for smut. Some of it slightly odd sexual smut. My fingers just started typing, and it came out that way. Sorry if it's OOC, but G&E never had sex on the show anyway so they're fair game.

* * *

><p>Goren cleared the table and washed and dried the dishes and the pots, before putting them away. He extinguished the candles and left everything spic and span. He worked quickly with the music; it seemed to inspire his creativity. He filled the coffee machine with fresh beans, and let it do its thing. He then located his chill-pack in his overnight bag and unzipped it. He removed the tea-towel from around the champagne and placed the bottle on the kitchen counter. He would have liked the champagne to have been even more chilled, but with the heat of the water in the bath, it would still be refreshing for her. He then set about retrieving and rinsing chilled strawberries from the fridge. He arranged several whole strawberries along with a sliced banana, fragrant sliced papaya pieces, and cut passionfruit halves. He located a small bowl and filled it with pieces of the couverture chocolate, and placed it in the microwave before locating two tall champagne flutes.<p>

When the microwave beeped, he stirred away the final lumps of chocolate until they melted and rested the small bowl of chocolate on the fruit platter. He poured rich espresso into a small white cup and sugared it liberally (only one cup for her, as he didn't feel his own body could cope with caffeine right then). Finally he added a couple of dessert forks and teaspoons to the feast. Then, balancing the laden platter on one arm, and the champagne under the other, he headed towards the closed bathroom door.

"Eames Is it OK if I come in and shave?" He asked through the door. He lied about his motive. He wanted to break down more barriers between them, and he figured that feeding her chocolate-dipped tropical fruit while her naked body soaked in the bath might be an effective way to do that.

He heard a little splashing. "Ahh sure. Come in," she replied.

He had to put down the platter on the floor in order to free up a hand. He peaked around the door, and gave a lopsided grin. Her faced was flushed pink with the steam, and her hair was damp, and seemed even longer. Her two delicate knees were peaking out of the water. The shy expression on her face was utterly adorable. Enticingly, she had arranged the bubbles strategically to cover all the parts he really wanted to see.

"What have you got there?" she asked.

"Champagne," he declared. He placed the bottle on the white tiles beside the bath. He spied the chair and picked up the towels and lacy lingerie he found resting on top and placed them on the sink. He eyed the pink garments with interest as he did so.

"That was supposed to be a surprise." She told him.

He nodded, and resisted examining them. He brought the chair closer to the bath. Without being asked, he also moved the rug underneath the chair. He didn't want to break her tiles.

"I have a surprise for you too," He told her. He went back to the bathroom door and retrieved his decadent platter. He sat down on the metal chair. She moved upright to inspect her offering, and he was rewarded with the welcome sight of her bubble covered breasts and perspiring steamy skin.

"Bobby!" was all she could say.

He put down the stem flutes next the the champagne bottle on the floor, rested the platter on his lap. He picked a strawberry by the stalk. He dipped and twirled it into the melted chocolate, and offered it to her. She opened her mouth, taking the whole fruit in her mouth. He pulled at the stalk until it separated, and she sank back down into the bath in contentment as she savored it.

"Mmmm!" she moaned. "That's so good!"

Encouraged by this, he now made a shish-kebab on a fork with a piece juicy papaya and ripe banana, and made another offering to tonight's honored goddess. She accepted the treat again, sucking quickly on the tip of his thumb as he withdrew the fork.

"Your turn," she insisted and reached forward and chose a strawberry. She swirled it in the chocolate and made him lean forward over the tray to eat it. He sucked on her chocolate finger, while he stared at her pert breasts. Unlike her, he chewed and swallowed the stalk too. She looked intrigued and turned on all at the same time.

He put down the tray on the bathroom tiles, and passed over the mini-cup of hot espresso. She sniffed it like a fine wine and downed it in two shots.

"You are a fine, kind, thoughtful man," she commented, handing him back the cup.

He gave her a look that would melt an iceberg and slowly reached down to the tray on the floor. He scooped some passionfruit pulp onto a teaspoon. She released her tongue into the air, and he poured the pulp and juice it into her mouth. She swallowed it down with passion.

"Mmmm!" She submerged her head under the bathwater, and surfaced with a lazy and sexy look in her eye while he finished the passionfruit pulp left in the shell. He could understand why she'd always proclaimed it the best tasting fruit in the world. "What else you got?" she asked.

He reached down to his right and picked up the champagne bottle, popping the top away from her. She squealed at the sound, and he filled the two glasses almost to the rim. He passed her a slim flute, and she sat up and enveloped her hand around the smooth surface of the glass. He could only stare at her breasts until she entwined her forearm around his. He then leaned forward, forcing his gaze to focus on her eyes, rather than he nipples.

"To being alive," she toasted.

He nodded, and blinked. He understood every nuance of her meaning. He clinked her glass, and they drank to life.

After unlocking their arms for a tender little chocolate strawberry kiss during which she had somehow soaked his shirt, they both finished their glasses of champagne. Goren was feeling overwhelmed with positive emotions, and felt the need to flee for just a moment. Old habits died hard he supposed. He gathered up the tray, bottle and glasses to take them to the kitchen,and tried to get his trembling hands under control as he attempted to process whatever the hell it was he was feeling. It only took him three and a half to minutes to miss being in her presence. He reentered the bathroom to find that she was cleaning her teeth right there in the bath, and he stood there and watched her, wringing his hands in fascination as she rinsed her mouth under the tub's faucet. He was really into non-standard behavior from her because he didn't even realize she had non-standard behavior in her repertoire until now. He should have known better! From the flashes of her personality that came out in their little undercover role-plays, he simply should have known better.

There was a still smear of chocolate on her nose, and she didn't know it. He said nothing, and instead went to the bathroom sink and slid open the doors of the mirrored cabinet. The swelling in his forehead had completely disappeared, and he looked like his old self again, only a much happier version. He found a new toothbrush and started to clean his teeth as well .He could feel her interested eyes on him as he did so. This domestic stuff was a foreign and fascinating new domain of their relationship. He spit and rinsed without a trace of self-consciousness.

"You gonna shave?" she asked.

He nodded and nosed around her medicine cabinet, locating a pink disposable razor with a daisy print all over it. He eyed it with amusement and shrugged, rifling around further to locate suitable a cream or balm. Liz had certainly outdone herself with replacing Eames' creams and lotions.

"Don't," came her soft request.

He was surprised and looked over at her in curiosity. "Don't shave? You sure?" He couldn't read the expression on her face, but he suspected she was up to something sneaky.

"I'm sure. Bring the razor over here Bobby."

He obeyed and sat down on the stool. Was she going to shave him? Her motive soon became apparent as she extended one gorgeous calf and shin upward into the air, and bubbles dripped down her upright leg. And he was all over the scene like seagulls on French fries. He reached into the bath taking a handful of bubbles and smoothed them over her extended leg with a delicate slowness. He cradled her slim and elegant ankle in his right hand to support the weight and ran the pink razor down her luscious legs starting at her ankle and, stopping just below her knee. He was consumed by a desire to explore and experiment. He ran the razor down her leg again right next to the path he had just made. Her skin had him mesmerized as he completed stroke after stroke around the circumference of her limb, gently rinsing the residue in the warm bath water as he went along.

He continued his task with an impenetrable concentration. Shaving a woman's legs was something he'd never done before, and it was fascinating. She was fascinating. He glanced at her occasionally with a Mona Lisa smile, and kept rubbing his hands along her skin to check the smoothness of his handiwork. He had to stand up to complete the second leg properly. Not one nick did he make. When he was done, he placed the razor carefully on the tilework proudly like an artist putting down his brush.

She caressed her own legs and expressed approval for his handiwork. She rinsed plunged her legs back into the now-tepid bath water."You liked that," she declared. It was not a question. "I knew you would Bobby. Tell me, is there anywhere else you want to shave?"

His eyes practically bugged out of his head and his brow moved in surprise. Was this his intimacy-coy Eames? He shook his head. He liked conflicting textures. He enjoyed her vulva and vagina just how it was the other night - covered with fine down. He was completely in thrall at her confidence. He was under the spell that she had just seem to know how to cast on him.

He swallowed. "Do you... have any another tasks you need doing?" he dared to ask. Now he was the shy one. The games were on.

She nodded. "You could add more hot water."

He obliged and turned on the faucet, testing the heat with his fingers. He swirled the heated water around the tub with his forearms to distribute it more evenly. His hands ran across her breasts, just to make sure they were warm too. Her nipples were seemed to indicate a measure of cold as he smoothed his thumbs over them. He turned off the faucet.

"Is there anything else?" he asked. This was the stuff of his fantasies. How did she know?

"You could get in the tub with me," she suggested.

He baulked as he did a few calculations with his eyebrows. "I'm not going to fit in there." As tempting as her invitation sounded, he was quite sure the tub couldn't accommodate the both of them. Besides, he didn't want to be infused with jasmine oil for the rest of the night.

She relented. "Just dip your toes in then."

He nodded as though her request were an everyday occurrence, and reached down to remove his boots and socks. He decided it would be foolish to get his jeans wet as he planned to wear them the next day, so he stood up and started to purposefully undo his belt. Her heated eyes were fixed on him as he unzipped his fly. She was a private audience of one, and she was clearly appreciating the show.

He was semi-hard and had been for the past half-hour. He pulled off his jeans to reveal his navy boxers, which were looking a little too bulky in the front.

"Sit down and warm your feet Bobby." It was said kindly, and not meant to be a command. He had long legs, so he moved the chair and rug to the very end of the bath where her feet were. He sat down and raised his legs, resting his bare feet on her nude stomach while he awaited her reaction. She cupped water into her hands and poured it over his feet, warming them. She started to press and rub the balls and heels of his feet with her thumbs and fingers. He'd forgotten how much his feet had been punished the day before pursuing Craven, and running up flights of stairs. A groan of appreciation escaped him. Her touch hurt his feet, but it was a delicious hurt. She worked at his arches firmly.

"You always work so hard; you have to learn to relax Bobby." She weaved her fingers in and out of his calloused toes. She tickled the underside of his big toe, and he laughed youngly. Not liking his vulnerability to her tickles, he reached up his big right toe and pressed it down onto her breast, circling around her left nipple. The other size 13 foot sought her folds under the bubbles. She spread her knees apart to accommodate it, and lay back her head, groaning in pleasure. She soon found out that he was left-toed as well as being left handed and that his ankles were just as strong and dextrous as his wrists.

"Bobby!" she called as he roused her orgasm with his talented toes, one big toe on her nipple, and the toes of his other foot kneading her clitoris.

"Let go Alex." He commanded, and he toed fucked her expertly until she was brought to a steamy climax.

After she had recovered, he offered a towel and a hand to help her out of the bath. He lifted her up and placed the towel carefully around her shoulders, and started to pat her dry. He knew he was getting a little carried away. He now plotted to thoroughly towel her down and dress her in the lingerie, but his plan was thwarted.

"OK, Bobby. I've got it from here. Would you wait in the bedroom for me?"

Not wanting to push the boundaries any further than she was willing to go, he complied. He stooped down and stroked her cheek with one hand and brushed his lips lightly against her minty-fresh mouth. It was with a regretful heart and cock that he left the bathroom. He really wanted to watch what she did next. He closed the door behind him to give her privacy, and walked towards her bedroom. Once there, he quickly tracked back and knocked softly on the bathroom door.

"What is it?" she asked. She sounded slightly exasperated.

"I need my jeans."

She read his mind as usual. In any case, she had already noticed the square pack of condoms in his jeans pocket. "I've got it covered Bobby. Just go to the bedroom."

The next thing Goren knew, he was experiencing his recently conjured up fantasy become a reality. Her cool white satin sheets were caressing against his naked back and buttocks. Only this was was even better than he'd imagined because his French knickered, pink-laced, blond goddess was pushing him down insistently into said sheets. She had just stripped off his t-shirt and boxers hungrily and was currently caressing the hair on his head and the hair on his chin with a delightful abandon.

As he'd suspected, the only texture that felt more sensual than the satin sheets was her soft warm jasmine-scented skin, which was now rubbing against his chest and legs. She sat upright on his naked pelvis, and he maneuvered his hand over the detailed lacey bra cups in the dark. He sense of touch was heightened by the absence of light. He made out her form as she reached behind her back, and unhooked the bra and flung it across the room. Her nipples were even more enticing than the garment that had housed them. The sensual satin top sheet was soon pulled over them. They both felt more secure that way. The two only wanted only to be cocooned in the privacy of each other after the scare with the camera. He felt his desire burning beneath the sheets and he was drawn inexorably to the flame.

He started to touch her and stroke under her silky frilly French knickers, and with her help, slid them off. He began to lose himself in the scent of her obvious building readiness. She had taken him by surprise tonight, and he felt an inclination to submit to her every whim. She reached over to the beside table. He simply lay back waiting for what was coming next. He tingled from his balls upwards as she rolled the mysterious condom onto his hard length. It was a surprisingly good fit at the tip, and it felt really comfortable. She then proceeded to angle her mouth over his cock. He hid from his view under under the sheet as she licked his hard-on, activating the lubricant. He could hear her muffled, but audible sounds of approval.

They complemented his own. "Eames! Eames!" he yelled with desperation. He had to halt her insistent suction on his shaft or it he was going to be finished before he'd even begun. He thought absently that maybe she should have rolled on two condoms to reduce his sensitivity. He took charge of his erection and easily manipulated her body until she was pinned underneath him. He knew he shouldn't use his brute strength to his own advantage, and he was aware that he had given her missionary last time; but he just wanted her beneath him, and that's exactly where she was right now. She wasn't exactly protesting at his intention either. In fact, her eyes indicated quite the opposite.

His right hand interlocked his fingers with hers as he rested his weight on his left forearm. He began to kiss her with a breathy and probing urgency. Kissing was perhaps even the best part of lovemaking for him. He tongued and explored while his hard cock beneath him demanded the same action. She ran her free hand up and down his torso in encouragement as their bodies bumped together.

"Hurry Bobby!" she commanded. He was relieved to hear it. After all, their foreplay had started in the bath...maybe even in the car. Maybe even back on the day they'd first met.

He reached down one hand and grasped his cock and guided himself into her entrance, and his body soon merged with hers. He heard and felt her gasp in pleasure as he carefully penetrated the narrow space, and a high moan soon followed her gasp. He lay his hips heavily on her, pushing her legs apart. His arms now supported his upper body and he was suspended slightly above her. Hard feminine nipples were scraping against his chest. The noises she was making spurred him on to the goal of eliciting more of these curious sounds. When he felt she was ready, he adjusted the angle of his thrusting and the position of her lower body. He started a brand new style frequency of motion as he pummeled deeper and harder into her depths, all the while kissing her mouth, neck and breasts in a sexy symphony of touch and taste. Her moans increased in frequency and duration; they were breathy, high, desperate, and highly sexual.

He licked and nibbled at her ear. "I love you. I love you. I love you," he whispered fervently. There was no design in it. He was just interpreting verbally the messages his heart was sending.

She wrapped her legs around him and started to move in a motion that was uniquely her. He looked deeply into her eyes with a tender gratitude at the sensation her moves were giving him. She returned his gaze and held it longer than she'd ever done before as they rocked and rolled together. They were without a doubt the only single entity in existence at that moment.

"I love you so much Bobby," she whispered.

And beauty was truth, and truth was beauty. And he finally understood the poet Keats who'd written that line. And it was all he needed to know on earth.

Her hands glided down from his face to his hips and then cupped his buttocks firmly as he ground into her with an insatiable, unrelenting pulsing urgency. Her moans become louder and his primal and base grunts began to answer them in kind. An erotic crackling energy sizzled between them as they surrendered the key they held to their mutual pleasure. He felt her walls tighten around his cock as she entered into some kind of limbo where he could not quite reach. She wept and howled his name in exhilaration, and he slowed his muscled movements to allow her to recover.

He was not quite done with her yet, and a vigorous kiss to her mouth let her know that fact. He withdrew from her quickly, and rolled off of her. The loss of his heat and weighty contact caused her to come back to awareness once more. He arranged some of the giant European pillows against the bed head, and sat up against them. She was lying next to him on the sheets that were now sweating with their passion. He grasped her around the waist and insistently and strongly pulled her naked body onto his lap. She moved her knees beside his waist. He engulfed her in his arms in a firm and extended cuddle, and then he engulfed her insides with his firm and extended cock. Her arms wrapped around him as he lifted his pelvis up and down with a renewed vigor at no longer having to support his own weight. She pressed against him with as much skin contact as possible and ran her fingers through his hair and assaulted his lips with hers until a more determined 'O', 'O', 'O' sound now emerged from her. They were both glistening with sweat as they continued their hard, soft and silky dance. She finally found out what the 'O' stood for in Robert O Goren. It was the third time he'd brought her there that night. After pausing to shudder and relish in it, she mustered up all her determination and contracted her insides as best she could around him, while riding him faster and faster.

"Let go Bobby!" she demanded of him.

"Oh Alex!" And she felt his passion explode in a series of abrupt spasms and grunts. She watched his cum face in fascination. He was beautiful.

They both caught their breath as they collapsed and lay back on the bed, panting and perspiring. There was no denying it now. They were oh-so sexually compatible, and that didn't even begin to cover it. They looked at each other and smiled and held hands in mutual comprehension. They had come here together, and one couldn't have arrived there without the other.

He went to the bathroom to clean himself up, and soon returned to her waiting, welcoming arms. She'd figured out he liked, nay needed, to cuddle after lovemaking, so that was exactly the kind of affection she was going to give him. To see him display such power during sex, followed by such vulnerability afterwards was overwhelming. She had such strong feelings of love for him, and she was still learning how to express them. They somehow fell into a twenty minute slumber, but soon she got up to go to the bathroom, waking him in the process.

When she returned to her rightful place next to him under the sheets, she stroked his naked hips with interest.

"Not yet baby. I'm sorry." He replied. He felt regretful that he was no longer in his twenties. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't kiss her, and he did quite a thorough job. When he was done and his lips were sore and puffy, he turned her on her side and pulled her bare back towards his chest to spoon her. She was tiny but fit nicely into him; he enjoyed the life-giving warmth she provided.

As usual, they when they weren't face-to-face, they found it easier to talk. He was surprised to find her bringing up her plan to meet with ADA Fletcher the following day. She was most eager to know what kind of information Carver might have on her. Carver wouldn't say over the phone, but Eames hoped it would be something big. She also expressed her relief at the video having been deleted, and was grateful for the help Logan was to provide.

Bobby was slightly bothered at being left out of the action, and he felt the need to tell her so. "Eames, if this doesn't work out, though I'm sure it will, but if it doesn't; then you know I'm the best person to get back any copies she might have made."

"No Bobby! I already told you. I'm not having you, or Logan for that matter, act as bait." Short of Bobby offering to screw the witch, Eames couldn't see any possible way June would hand over the footage voluntarily. From what Bobby had told her about their meeting by the elevator, screwing him was exactly what the barracuda had in mind.

"Is it just because you're jealous that you don't want me near her?" he asked. He really did say things he shouldn't at times.

She scoffed. "No – that's not it at all!" Blackmail was the only way to go as far as Eames was concerned. And it would be more effective if Fletcher believed Bobby knew nothing about it.

"Oh really?" He asked skeptically. He knew how much June Fletcher got Eames' back up.

"Yes really. I just think she might not buy it is all."

"You don't think I can make a woman believe I'm interested?"

"Well it took you almost ten damn years before I realized you were," she replied dryly.

"Touché! Eames. But you'd have to at least acknowledge that I'm a very convincing actor."

She sighed. "I'm just worried she might realize we're playing her. She knows we're together, and you've already turned her down. Why would you suddenly change your mind? No Bobby, my plan is better. It has less chance of backfiring, and Logan is perfectly capable of playing his part. And you won't get into trouble if you do it my way; you can stay right out of it." Her arguments were convincing.

"OK, OK. I already said I like your plan better anyway. And I'm not just saying that because I want to have my way with you again," he added with cheek.

"Your way with me? What makes you think I'll let have your way with me? She teased.

"Oh, you'll let me Eames," he said with utmost certainty.

"Oh, I will, will I? A bit cocky aren't we, Goren?"

"So I've been told," he replied cockily.

She didn't respond verbally to his lame innuendo, but he felt the ire of her elbow jab into his side, and he feigned an 'owww!'

He rolled on top of her once more, pinning her down with his hands, and placing his knees on either side of her hips; it seemed to be his signature move with her. This caused the sheet to slip off, but neither of them felt inhibited anymore. "Oh, I'm positive you'll let me have my way with you Eames."

She wriggled under his firm grip, but it was futile. "Never! I'm still sore from the last time." she protested vigorously.

He softened his voice to a smoother, more manipulative tone that he normally saved for naive suspects. "Oh don't say that baby! Let me have my way with you. I swear you won't feel a thing." He traced his exploratory fingers up her thigh.

Her body shivered, and she ceased her wriggling to enjoy the touch, but her tongue was too stubborn to give up the fight.

"Give me one good reason why I should!" she demanded.

He decided to provoke her wrath a little further. After all, she had so much of it stored in reserve. He looked at her in earnest "Didn't you say that your Dad's been telling you to 'secure' me? If you let me have my way with you right now, well that ought to do it Eames. You could consider me well and truly secured."

He caught her trying not to grin as she feigned annoyance. "Way to kill the atmosphere." She slapped his roaming hand gently. "For future reference, do not ever mention my father while we're in bed - or June Fletcher for that matter!"

He looked at her genuinely contrite and leaned on his elbow. "I'm sorry Eames. What can I do to make it up to you? I'll do anything!"

She raised one eyebrow, clearly intrigued, "Anything?"

He kneeled up on the bed, clasping his hands together. It was amazing how his damaged knee didn't play up when his balls were aching. His spent cock finally started to rouse its interest a little in response to their play-acting. It reminded him of their silly, and sometimes completely unnecessary, ruses as a couple that they had done on the job over the years. "Yes Alex. Absolutely anything. I'm literallyon my knees here baby. I'm completely and utterly besotted with you. I'm…smitten!"

She smiled at his choice of adjectives. "OK then Mr. Smitten, I have a request."

"Name it," he replied, caressing the back of one of her knees. He remembered where her erogenous zones were, and he already possessed the knowledge of how to stimulate them.

Her breath hitched in delight. _How did he already know that place? Has he made a map of my body already?_ She started to bargain. "OK Bobby, since your binder got a nickname, then so should I. _'_Baby' is fine on occasion, but it's very _generic. _You think I'm generic? I want you to think of a better name for me."

He pounced on her and looked into her eyes, before smacking a kiss on her forehead. "It's a deal my apple pop tart!" He'd seen that particular treat among the groceries Liz had purchased.

"No!" She shook her head and wrinkled her nose at the pop-tart suggestion.

He kissed her on the nose and tried again.

"My cashew-nut baklava?"

"You can't be serious!" she exclaimed.

He licked her row of metal earrings on the right ear. He'd always thought they were so un by-the-book. The more time he was spending in bed with her, the more he was realizing that she wasn't as straight laced and serious as he'd led himself to believe. She'd unraveled _him_ rather than the other way around. "Macadamia nut?" he tried, running a hand through her dark blond locks.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"It's hard on the outside, and delicious on the inside. Delicious Alex!" He licked along the length of her jeweled ear.

"You think I'm hard?" she asked.

"Not as hard as I am," he said seductively, neatly dodging the question. He tried another method of distraction and kissed her lazily on the mouth gliding in his tongue. "Lexicon?" he suggested.

"Too wordy." She shot down.

He ran his tongue along her throat, drawing an outline of a flower. "Petal?"

"No flowers Bobby!" She'd been poisoned in part by flowers.

He kissed the already peaking left nipple of her bare breast, before moving to the right. "Sugarplum cupcakes?"

She gasped in arousal as his tongue and taste buds applied pressure. "Marginally better, but no." She forced out.

He kissed her tummy, and it shivered involuntarily. "Butternut pumpkin?" he inquired.

"Watch yourself Goren!" she warned.

He didn't bother speculating why she was annoyed at that one, and instead orientated his mouth further south before focusing his attention on swirling his tongue across her vulva in a spiral pattern. "Cinnamon scroll?" came his muffled voice.

"Uh uh!" She refuted his suggestion much less convincingly this time, and he picked up on it. She was weakening.

He snaked tactile hands down her hips and slowly drew apart her thighs. They yielded to the angle he wanted with very little attempt at dissent. His hands then crept towards the jewels between said thighs and he tilted his head even lower and plundered the riches he found between her legs, exfoliating her bare skin with his stubble laden chin and cheeks. He started to lick and tongue and taste his treat wholeheartedly. "Mmm Peach Melba. Eames - that's your new nickname. Say it is! Say it is!"

"No. Noo!" She moaned.

He surrounded her clitoris with his tongue like a slowly forming whirlpool, stopping only to utter "Peppercorn?"

"Noooo!" Her will was wavering, and her panting was quickening.

He sensed from her trembling she was about to give in to his tongue's insistence that she come. He slid his tongue into her entrance before withdrawing and looking up at her face as though he'd been thunderstruck from above with the perfect name.

"I know….Dr Watson!" He deadpanned.

He felt a slap to the side of his head and he laughed mischievously. A deserved slap was sort of pleasant. "I'll get you for that!" came her vengeful reply.

He responded to her threat by diving down and flicking his strong tongue erratically to various geographical zones, and he felt her insides tremble and quiver. He rubbed against her clit with the tip of his nose, enjoying the fragrance.

"No! No! No!" She cried out. "You can call me baby alright. God call me baby!" She squeezed her thighs firmly around his head. He momentarily entertained the thought that death between Eames' uppers thighs would be a good way to go. He continued to make love to her with his tongue only lightly. He paused momentarily to blow his warm breath on her gently and declared her to be his baby. When his tongue entered her, more deeply this time, she started to scream until her formerly insistent cries of 'No' quickly converted into 'Yes!" 'Yes! Yes! Yes!'

Perhaps 'baby' wasn't as standard as she'd first judged. No matter, Goren had his way with her after all. And he demonstrated to her that his mouth, tongue, lips, fingertips and finally his cock regarded her as anything but generic.

* * *

><p>Bobby was awakened at 5am, his dormant body heating up his lava like a volcano. His detective skills kicked into gear, and it dawned on him that he was fully conscious, and in Eames' bed no less. Her curved front was pressed against his bare back, and her delicate yet strong hand was rubbing his naked cock very gently. The sensation was slick and wet and the tender motion was creating a luscious friction and sucking sound. He could detect the sent of coconut hand cream which she'd obviously coated her palm with. He felt that it was a truly excellent way to be roused from a slumber.<p>

"Uhhh!" A breathy involuntary sound escaped from his lungs. He could feel her hard nipples and bare breasts against his back, and his balls convulsed as he continued to harden. He attempted to turn his body to look at her.

He felt a nibble on his ear, and a whisper. "Stay Goren. Let me do this for you. I need to do this for you."

He was pretty much ready to relent right there, but his curiosity got the better of him. He liked her to verbalize her sexual needs. "Why?" he asked throatily. His voice was low, not having quite woken up as her five fingertips tentacled against his bare shaft and tip.

"To show you how sorry I am." She whispered.

At her words, his body halted its motion his half-sleeping mind hadn't even realized it had set in play. "You're sorry?" he asked. He started to turn his head. He was surprised when she nudged her chin against it to discourage his movement.

Her voice spoke softly, but seemed louder in the dark. "I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I want to make it up to you Bobby, and I want you to lie there and let me do this."

He understood instantly that she was referring to Frank. She had met with him while Bobby was on suspension, and she'd never told him about it until the letter Frank had written surfaced, and forced her hand. Bobby didn't turn to face her. Again they seemed to be more forthright when they didn't have to look at each other. He placed his fingers over her wrist, and removed her hand from his cock decisively. He didn't want to do it, but felt he had to. "There's nothing to forgive baby. I told you, I understand. It was good…it was very good of you to try to help him."

"But I knew he was playing me Bobby; playing on my feelings for you. He did the same thing when he told me about Donny. I fell for it then too. I don't know why I did. I'm usually smarter than that." He heard the guilt in her voice. Her hand was now on his bare hip, and she began to massage the skin she found there, unable to still her caress. She planted an occasional kiss behind his ear. She sounded quite upset. It hurt him to hear it.

"It's OK Eames. I understand, I swear I do." He did understand, but he honestly still felt a little betrayed that she'd kept it from him. Then again, he'd deliberately maintained a frostiness between them that would have made it almost impossible for her to confide in him. Whenever she tried to talk to him during those months, he'd clipped her wings. In fact he'd clipped back her wings many times since then too. It was amazing that she had ever worked up the courage to talk to him about anything real at all. He was profoundly grateful for her preternatural patience and resilience.

But Frank was in the past now, and forgiveness was another of Bobby's great talents. He'd had to forgive his father, and his mother, and his brother countless times. Forgiving her was a cake walk in comparison. Her lips were on his bare back and shoulder, planting sweet kisses that went straight to his heart and warmed it. His baby koala was clinging dependently to his back.

She lifted her lips to his ear and continued to unburden herself. "I almost walked away from him Bobby, but I was afraid that he'd go to you and ask you for money. I didn't think you could handle him right then. But it wasn't my decision to make for you. I should have come to you, and stood beside you while you dealt with him."

He sighed. "I wouldn't have let you do that. Not then." He had to shoulder some of the blame. .

She continued to whisper gently in his ear, her voice full of emotion. "I knew he probably wouldn't make it through the program. But I hoped. I hoped so much for you. I wanted you to have your brother back; have your family back."

He sighed again with more comprehension. "I know Eames. I always hoped the same."

"You understand then?" she asked.

"I understand Eames. I told you I do. It's just…it's the money." He was bothered that she'd wasted fifteen thousand dollars on Frank's rehab. How could he ever repay her? He was drowning in debt! He tried to turn to her once more, but she resisted his attempts at movement by pressing her one palm against his shoulder, while her other remained stroking his hip. He yielded to her insistence that he be still. It was only fair since she had allowed him to take control of her body in this very bed only a few hours ago.

."Oh Bobby! You can pay me back if that's what you need to do. I'll let you, but let me do this for you now. Please!" The last word was so full of yearning that he submitted to her will, and accepted the physical gesture she was offering. Her left hand massaged the crook of his neck and her right reached around his hip, trailing down to his groin. Her touch on that particular zone of his skin was borderline orgasmic, and he found himself vibrating and quaking in response. Her warm palm clasped his cock and her moistened fingertips massaged the underside of his balls.

"I'm sorry Bobby," she whispered, continuing gentle massage of his neck.

He groaned loudly with pleasure from the dual sensations she was giving him. He couldn't deny her need any more than he could deny his own. And he accepted her apology in this way because she required it of him. As he dissolved away into ecstasy, his last cogent thought was that from now on, he would do absolutely anything she needed him to do.


	25. Woman On Top

**A/N ** After this chapter, I believe Eames may insist on hijacking the rest of the story and finally kick some counselor kiester.

Rated 'M' for graphic sex scenes. If you want to skip them, scroll down to the bottom of this page to the mini chapter entitled "Carver", which is more plot-relevant. **  
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**WOMAN ON TOP**

When Alex opened her eyes, she was startled to find herself lying on her side and being greeted by the sight of a huge man sleeping next to her. The scent of jasmine and coconut and sex was permeating her nostrils, and she recalled pleasantly the various ways those fragrances had come to be in her bed.

She'd always imagined he would be up all night prowling and pacing like a caged panther, but he had remained sound asleep. He had turned over onto his back at some point, and one huge arm was raised up onto the pillow next to him, while the other was resting loosely across her. His slumbering face carried a look of satisfied contentment. He looked secure and loved, and it was a magnificent sight to behold. His arms and chest were exposed while the rest of him remained hidden under the satin sheet, which seemed to be performing the duties of a toga. She could see the outline of his thighs splayed out wide under the sheet. With his four huge limbs in such a stance, he looked like the legendary statue of the Colossus of Rhodes.

She smiled as she watched him breathing. It was nice to observe the scene without scrutiny. Because whenever his huge dark brown orbs looked into her eyes with untold passion and love, she lost herself in his intensity. She simply gave herself over to him to do what he willed. But for now his eyelids were closed, and she was safe from yielding control.

She resisted reaching out to run her fingers through his hair, enjoying her quiet moment of art appreciation. She adored all his curls that crowned his head and imagined him adorned with an olive garland while his long fingers fed her peeled grapes one by one. It was then that she realized that she was currently wearing not a fig leaf, and neither was he. How convenient!

She longed to peep under the sheet and see precisely what was going on down there. He was all strength and breadth and length and width. She hungered to express her gratitude to one of the organs responsible for taking her the very heights and depths of ecstasy the previous night.

_Thou shallt not covet thy partner!_

But she did. She'd done more than just covet him. How had it finally come to pass?

Bobby had always walked along the precipice where fragility and strength met, where confidence clashed with self-doubt. In contrast, her feet had always been on solid ground, parched, barren cracked ground - scorched earth if you will. But over the past month, he had beckoned her to his home on the precipice, and she found that she preferred to be wherever he was dwelling. The foundation had been laid there in his territory, built on years of friendship. She never thought she'd have it again - love, sexual intimacy, but she quickly found out that she was mistaken. The physical expression of her feelings had come easily to her after all. She was also surprised to find that she didn't think about her late (and beloved) husband when she was in Bobby's arms. This had been one of her big fears.

And she definitely wasn't reticent about expressing her inexorable desire for her new lover (and old friend). She had laid his foundation alright. She willingly bestowed upon him the love and affection that he'd been starved of for so long. He simply required it of her, and wasn't at all apologetic about his sexual needs or his demands to be hugged and held by her. This was curious because he was apologetic about almost anything else he ever did. His open and natural lovemaking amply demonstrated his adoration and devotion. As he moved within her, he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, and some not-so-sweet somethings too. She didn't know which of the two stirred up greater feelings.

He possessed an enormous strength, which turned her on to an extreme degree. Fortunately, from almost daily visits to the gym, her body was strong too, and she was grateful for it. They were going to be able to try out sexual shenanigans in all sorts of positions. Their disparate limb lengths meant that she would have be buy a lot more pillows, but there was always the furniture to try out. And he probably thought _he_ was the imaginative one. Bobby Goren was in for a surprise or two.

He possessed the uncanny ability to unpick all of her carefully secured stitches and make her come undone. Then he'd weave her back together with his fingers and lips and words. It was something magical. She hoped she was doing, and would continue to do, the same for him.

The sex was new, and she didn't know if she could ever get enough. But she was prepared to give it her best shot or die trying. They were learning to trust each other in the bedroom. Last night was a giant leap forward in breaking down their barriers. When he had finally relinquished control and allowed her to pleasure him, her fears that he would never let her access his heart dissipated. They had already constructed a sacred trust from working together for so many years, and yes, this had become shaky at times, but it was still there. They could trust each other with their lives, but their hearts and bodies were a new domain. She appreciated how hard it must have been for him to dive in so bravely the way he had, and she found herself drawing on his courage and throwing caution to the wind. They were free-falling together, and it was exhilarating.

It wasn't sex that had healed their rift. It was honesty. They had both been making a monumental effort to no longer conceal their feelings and thoughts. This was a slow process, they both had so many issues that they probably needed a team of psychologists on around-the-clock speed-dial. But they'd both agreed to accept anything the other had to say without judgment. And it was also understood that neither one was going to leave the other. Their very souls and psyches were hinging on this tacit agreement. Even though he hadn't said it, she realized now that he intended to stay by her side. Not just for this week, but for good. She wasn't naive enough to think it would be easy. But denying him his first and only shot at love and happiness was no longer an option. And she? She had earned her second chance. And she intended to love him with a full heart.

He must have felt her eyes lingering over him, because he started to stir. She found herself aroused by his small movements and twitches. Her heart did a complex gymnastic dismount, landing in the place between her thighs where memories of his grand entrance still lingered tenderly. She touched her shoulder where he'd marked her in the crest of his first climax with her four nights ago. She then recalled other more recent memories of him.

She knew he'd liked shaving her legs and feeding her – really liked it. She longed to discover what else got him hot and bothered.

He'd already made love to her with his long and talented toes, then lovefucked her soundly and sturdily with the rest of his body. Then came his nicknaming session while he was navigating her southern hemisphere, first with his mouth and hairy chin, and then with his mast.

Her arousal had been almost too intense for her to take. And now she felt it rising once more as she gazed at his sleeping form. She felt the selfish need to indulge in her lust for him. Later tonight their lovemaking could be leisurely. But for now, she just wanted him to wake up, lie still, and allow her to engage in a little recreation.

It was cruel and dangerous to wake a sleeping giant, especially one that got so little sleep in general, but she blew gently on a large bicep anyway. He fluttered his eyes open and blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out just where he was. When he realized he was in her bed, he smiled and yawned as he turned over on his side - now face to face with his ladylove.

"Bobby!" said ladylove gasped.

"What is it?" he started to sit upright on one elbow in alarm.

She touched the crease under his eye. The sclera, which should have been white, was angry and red and raw. "It's your eye. I think you've burst another blood vessel!" It had happened once before on a stressful case when he hadn't been sleeping well.

He lay back down on his side. "Oh, is that all? Don't worry Eames. It doesn't hurt. Things just got a little strenuous last night; I may have over-exerted myself," he grinned smugly, reaching for the nearest bare breast and cupping it.

She shivered, and touched her thumb on the corner of his damaged eye and stroked his lashes when he closed it. "Bobby. I'm serious here. You've got to start looking after yourself."

He silenced her with a close-mouthed kiss on the lips, followed by one on her nose. His hand never left her breast. "Maybe _you_ could look after me," he suggested. One of her hands somehow found its way to his bare left chest in response. She felt his heart beating, and her body pulsed from the inside out, answering its call. Bobby had such a tender heart, and she appreciated this tenderness in his lovemaking. But soft feelings would have to wait until tonight, because right now her body knew it simply had to screw him hard - fuck him senseless.

The man was pushing extremely close to 50, but by the outline of his hard-on under the satin sheet, he was plainly geared up to go another round. There was no doubt that his bloodstream pumped higher and hotter than most, and this red-blooded male specimen had awakened something primal in her. There was some sort of ancient instinct buried within her that prized his raw masculinity and authority. But he tempered these caveman-like tendencies with such gentleness and adoration. It was a potent duality that she could not resist. And his smell was so salty and delicious. His scent had been taunting her for years, but now she was finally able to inhale him in and taste him. She lapped at his enticing chest and felt her own power when she raised goosebumps on his skin. He started to roll her over on her back, but she anticipated his move. She made it clear she would have none of it this time. His dominance was not going to work for her this morning. She did _not_ want him to overexert himself again. It was her turn. She was senior partner after all.

He read her intentions and lay on his back in submission, arms on either side of his head. She could read his expression, which was a mixture of amusement and anticipation. She had been granted a search warrant, which gave her full access to his premises. Armed with her warrant, she endeavored to test out her virtue. His breathing was getting quicker, and his body heat was rising. Damn he was mouth-watering and she was pulsing and beating for him. Morning Bobby was even better than morning coffee!

She was not unaware that her nether regions were still sore and tender. Not just from the night before, but also from four nights previously. Whenever Bobby fully penetrated her, she seemed to beg for more, but the after effects were little too much. She was going to have to take him in easy this morning if she intended to come back for more night after night. She decided to choose a position that would restrict his access a little. She reached under the pillow where she had stashed a few of those black condoms 'for the well-endowed man'.

She witnessed him bite his lower lip as she tossed away the sheet and gently touched the tip of his fully erect and already moistening smooth ivory rod.

"Eames, I'm going to need two of those," he stated factually. He moaned throatily as she rolled on the the first, and then the second layer of condom. He was still flat on his back and she climbed up onto his body and pressed her own form directly on top of his. Her breasts were pressed against his stomach, and her legs lay along his legs as she attempted to cover him like the wayward sheet. His cock was resting between her legs, and she settled her hands firmly at his waist. His quaking reaction showed her that she'd hit one of his hotspots.

She couldn't quite reach his face and jaw and still complete the mission, so she instead attacked his chest and nipples with her mouth, kissing and licking, while her fingers massaged his waist. He ran his large hands down the length of her already perspiring back, and then threaded his fingers through her hair. before bracing her in a firm hug. His caresses sent tingles of erotically-charged electricity through her nervous system. The wanton fantasies she'd indulged in since waking up beside him already had her as dripping wet as she needed to be. She was going to _do_ him, and do him now.

She handled his cock and coaxed it gently towards where she wanted it to be. She watched his face rumple in ecstasy as she guided him inside. Eames felt in control, strong, lascivious- sexy.

Bobby was obviously aware of ways to move so she could accommodate his endowments more comfortably, and she was grateful for it now. He grabbed onto both her ass cheeks firmly, and then tilted them at just the right incline so his throbbing double-coated cock met her terms and conditions.

She guided him into her wetness with her right hand, and then proceeded to press down around him as she started to move and slide on him. She moved in the same way again and again, producing a moist sexual sound. He eyes closed and he muttered "Eames, Eames. I've wanted you for so long." His voice was low, hoarse, husky, thick. The sound was cheesecake to her ears - aural New York baked cheesecake. She rolled her hips up and down faster, her breasts were still pressing down on top of him while she continued to kiss, lick and nip at his chest. One hand gripped her hair, while the other reached down to her, and waited patiently. When she raised her hips a little, his fingers homed in and found the exact spot he was seeking. She let out a sexy squeal as he started to rub at her clit. She moved with him, creating more friction. She was still fully in charge however. As she squeezed and molded her walls around his shape, she was profoundly grateful that she had been going to hatha yoga classes.

He left her in no doubt that he'd noticed what she was doing to him. "Eames! Eames! Please! Eames!" He was displaying a new kind of frenzied whimpering, and her moves had provoked it. She could feel his big cock inside her and she spread her legs out farther as she moved and rolled it around. He was her man now – This Colossus of Rhodes among mortals. Alex Eames moaned and groaned and her voice cried out as she unapologetically fucked her own partner -in her own bed- with a sense of profound urgency. It was fucking 911.

His large hands moved from her ass cheeks, grasped her hips and squeezed before running his fingers towards the small of her back. His fingertips traced the base of her spine where her orgasm brewed and boiled like molten lava trapped in a volcano which was threatening to blow. He raised his hips and lined up his weapon. His aim was true and after a few swift, sure strokes, she erupted. She hollered out his surname name over and over, and her screams assaulted the calm morning air. Her inhibitions scattered to the four winds, and she clenched both her hands at his waist. She soon resumed her rocking motion. Not not long afterwards, he experienced a not inconsiderable volcanic eruption of his own.

It only took seven minutes in total, but they both got what they needed. Her insides felt like cream that had been soundly whipped and aerated before transforming into pale butter.

_Whipped cream – now there was a thought to stash away._

She loved this man, and she had perhaps gotten this particular fantasy out of her system for now. She hoped she hadn't scared him. She doubted it. Maybe tonight they could make slow, soft, romantic languid love that lasted for hours. She pressed her perspiring face into his slightly hairy chest and breathed in.

She was still lying on directly on top of him at his high altitude. Although his arms were still wrapped around her, he was starting to doze off with a cat-that-just-ate-the-canary expression. She turned her head and rested her ear on his chest to monitor his heart rate…and came face-to-face with her beside clock. She looked at the time in alarm. 8.24am – Carver would be here at 10am – probably earlier. She tapped the giant on the chest.

"Bobby, you'd better get up and get dressed. Carver will be here soon!" Her urgency interrupted the sacred silence.

He raised his head and opened his eyes. "What the...? When? Who's Carver?"

"Bobby!" She grabbed a European pillow from beside her and swatted it at him playfully. It landed over his face, covering it fully. He made no attempt to move the soft object.

"Who's Bobby?" came a muffled voice from beyond. She sensed he wanted to stay under the pillow for a while to enjoy his state of post-coital bliss. Dismounting from his frame, she left him alone to revel alone in his sex hormones.

She needed to get up now. Her craving for strong coffee with almond syrup and a chocolate croissant demanded it.

The warm water of the shower hit her skin, and she found herself disappointed when his smell started to fade. She toweled off her still-sensitive body and made her way back to her bedroom to pick out her clothes for the day. Not wanting to show June Fletcher that she felt competitive or threatened in any way, she chose to dress plainly in dark blue jeans and an olive-green long-sleeved top. Goren had woken from his stupor to watch her as she dressed. He seemed fascinated by being allowed to observe such a simple act, and mentioned how much he liked that particular color on her. This made her smile as she left the bedroom for the kitchen. Alex was full of nervous energy, which really wasn't like her. To keep busy, she started to grind and brew coffee. Then she retrieved some bacon, eggs and bread to feed herself, and her lumberjack – the chocolate croissant would have to wait.

Alex heard her latest conquest get up and go into the bathroom.

"You want me to shave? He called out.

A smirk crossed her face as she remembered how soft and rough his three-day growth had felt on her skin.

"Maybe tomorrow," she replied. It was thoughtful of him to ask her opinion on the matter. This caused her to drift off into a fantasy where she would wear red lingerie and stilettos, and he would be sitting in a chair while she lathered on plenty of shaving foam. Then she'd shave him, scraping gently at his neck and chin with one of those long silver old-fashioned razors. She seemed to be having a host of Goren fantasies lately. It was truly getting out of hand. The seasoned detective was fully aware that they hand entered the honeymoon phase, and she was wearing rose-colored glasses for now. But they had both waited for so long. They had earned it. She left her fantasy world as the bacon started to crackle and the smell of coffee wafted around the kitchen. Papaya was viciously sliced and diced in preparation.

As his bare feet approached her in the kitchen, she turned around and looked down at his large feet, slowly dragging her gaze northwards. Her first instinct was to drop to her knees and perform fellatio. He wore a pair of faded well-fitting blue jeans with a button fly, and a long-sleeved white sweater. But the most appealing thing about his delectable ensemble was the beaming smile on his face, and his unruly damp girls. He was irresistible! However, Alex was always the sensible and practical one. The fellatio would have to wait a few hours at least. After all, Carver could be here at any moment. She settled instead for his touch on the shoulder and peck on the cheek. He whispered 'Love you' softly in her ear. This gesture almost brought tears to her eyes.

They chatted over breakfast about how the day might pan out. First a meeting with Carver, then they'd meet up with Logan. After that, Alex would go to her scheduled late lunch with June Fletcher. Bobby expressed his confidence that the day would end in _precisely_ the same way as it had begun.

"How do you mean?" she asked.

"With Alex Eames on top," he clarified. He looked a little cheeky, but sincere too. She could see he had faith in her capability to bury the ADA.

"Put on some shoes," was her non-sequitur response. His bare feet and long lecherous toes were making her hot.

* * *

><p><strong>CARVER<strong>

Carver arrived at Alex's Forrest Hills apartment at 9.48am dressed to the nines in a ridiculously expensive gray suit and a rich polka dot tie. He looked as elegant as his voice always sounded.

Alex was glad to see him. Carver was an interesting man. They hadn't always seen eye-to-eye on certain issues, but she respected him for his ethics, his unwavering demand for solid evidence, and his smooth way with words. She had seen him woo juries with them, and she'd no doubt that he'd try to woo her once more into accepting his job offer. That was one reason why she wanted Bobby at the meeting. His presence would increase her own resistance to Carver's talent for persuasion.

As Carver was admitted entrance, he was surprised to be greeted by his two favorite detectives. He'd expected Goren to be here for the meeting, but he didn't expect him to look so at home. He looked older and grayer than Carver remembered - hardly surprising considering all he'd been through -and one eye was a little bloodshot. He wasn't clean shaven either. Overall though, it was evident that the big man looked casual, relaxed and almost _happy_. It was an unusual look for him, but he wore it well.

Carver noted that Eames looked very contented too, and just as naturally attractive as he'd remembered. He could sense a palpable energy flowing between the duo. There always had been a unique aura around them, but it had changed form somehow. It was clear that they were now partners in every sense of the word. Carver was not exactly shocked, but wondered if the department knew of it, and what ramifications it could have in regards to their future legal testimonies. If it was public knowledge that these high-profile partners were involved, a good defense lawyer could crush their credibility. The objectivity of their work and their opinions would be challenged on every front. He privately wondered just how long this relationship had been going on.

He supposed it didn't matter. From that day she had explained to open court why she had withdrawn her request for a new partner, he knew that their coupling was inevitable. There couldn't possibly be anyone else in the world who could understand and appreciate the complex inner workings of Robert Goren.

Carver greeted her first. He kept it formal, as always. "Good morning Detective Eames. I'm glad to see you looking so well. I trust you've fully recovered."

Alex shook his hand. "Call me Alex. I'm feeling a lot better now thank you, and thanks for coming over on such short notice."

Carver nodded and turned his attention to her hovering partner. "Detective Goren, it's good to see you too. It's been far too long." They shook hands firmly.

"Likewise Mr. Carver." For some reason Goren felt the need to on his best behavior.

Ron chuckled, but didn't suggest a more appropriate name to call him by. It was endearing really. Carver was somewhat taken aback about just how pleased he was to see Goren in the flesh. He'd always found him to be the most fascinating cop he'd ever worked with, and he had been concerned to hear about the man's personal and professional challenges. Carver had even called him a few times to offer support, and had sent him a greeting card or two over the years. Somehow, he'd never run into him in court, or found the time to see him in person. The two of them would never be best buddies, but there was always an underlying sense of respect and admiration that existed between them. They both loved their jobs, and were damn good at them, and each let their work become unhealthily all-consuming. Even now Ron noted the briefcase he was carrying was under the close scrutiny of Goren's curious eyes, no doubt he was speculating on the contents within.

After a bit of small talk and the pouring of coffee, they clustered around the sofa and coffee table to get down to business. Carver sat down in the armchair opposite them. He took a sip of coffee and spoke in his trademark mesmerizing voice, as though he was going to tell the most important tale they'd ever heard. That's how he always sounded when he spoke.

"I first came into contact with June Fletcher several years ago. I was on the selection panel to interview potential ADAs at NYU. It's a very competitive process, and is based on merit. I remember that Ms. Fletcher was young, very young. She had graduated a year earlier than her peers, but her results were outstanding. She made through the initial interview process with flying colors."

"So you selected her?" asked Bobby.

"No, I withdrew from the process, citing work commitments. It was not a decision I made lightly, and I was not asked to be on a panel again until two years later." Ron paused, his mind going back in time.

"What did she do?" asked Alex. Her suspicions were raised.

Carver raised his eyebrows and sat back against the armchair, pressing the tips of both sets of his fingers and thumbs together. "As I mentioned, it's an extremely competitive process with barely anything to distinguish one outstanding candidate from the next. As well a solid academic record and potential litigation skills, the DA's office seeks candidates with impeccable character. The day after her interview, I received an anonymous dossier containing letters, explicit photos, allegations – the contents of which appeared to raise questions about the content of her character.

"So how did she react when she found out what you had?" asked Alex.

"Well, she never found out what I had. As I mentioned, she was very young and just starting out in life. I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and keep what I knew to myself. Someone obviously had it out for her, and I couldn't be sure if the photos I saw were just of an old boyfriend or something more morally questionable. After all, we've all had youthful indiscretions." He shook his head at some distant memory before continuing "So I withdrew from the panel and filed the information away." He popped open the gold seals on his leather briefcase, and slid out a black zipped document carrier. "I often wondered if I'd done the right thing by hanging on to them, but the more I hear about June Fletcher, the more I'm glad I did."

"What have you heard?" inquired Alex.

"I don't like to indulge in gossip detectives. Let's just say that she appears to have a lot of good friends in high-up places. You should both watch yourselves if you plan to take her on." He warned seriously.

Goren reached over the coffee table, eager to get at the document carrier. Ron drew it back closer to his body, out of Goren's reach. He spoke in low, measured tones. "Before I hand this over detectives, I'm afraid I must insist on knowing why you need this information." He trusted them, but it was important that he not entrust it to their care without a very good reason.

"Can we just say that she's done something extremely unethical?" tested Goren. He did not want to go into the personal side of this issue.

Carver shook his head. "I'm afraid that's too vague detective. One could argue that I am doing something extremely unethical by giving you this dossier. I understand that all professionals have to make difficult decisions like this from time to time, but I need more information before I give this to you."

Alex weighed in on the matter. She did not beat around the bush. "Fletcher sent an email to David Dryden encouraging him to commit suicide. He was found hanging in his cell shortly afterwards. She knew he was mentally ill, and tried to exploit that. We need to find out why she wanted a man who had already confessed to his crimes to kill himself," stated Eames without emotion.

Carver nodded solemnly. He had been following the Dryden case closely after attempts had been made on both Eames and Goren's lives. He was aware that Dryden's death was ruled a murder. But if these detectives thought there was more to it, then he trusted their instinct. He didn't bother pointing out how hard the incitement of a suicide would be to prove in court, especially since it had been ruled a murder. These two knew the score almost as well as he, and he didn't insult their intelligence by pointing it out. Carver simply handed over the black dossier to Eames. She pounced on the contents, picking up a series of black and white stills. Bobby leaned in, his head at an impossible angle.

"Goren!" she gasped, as the images slowly made sense.

Goren squinted at the photos showing a slightly younger version of June Fletcher. The shots were several years old, but the face of the man performing such an unusual array of sexual acts with her was unmistakable.

Carver commented, "I gather the identity of the man and his profession come as no surprise to you." He might as well have been speaking on Mars, so ensconced were they in their two-man dome.

"We've got her," declared Goren, looking at his partner with unrestrained excitement. "Oh, we've got her now Eames!"


	26. Three Strikes

A/N This chapter is long (13K). The final paragraph could be too violent and/or disturbing for some readers (but is still only rated M).**  
><strong>

Acknowledgements: To whomever coined the phrase 'Major Headcase' (have seen that in several stories), and to two reviewers for the '24 hour speed dial psychologist' and 'Times Square' ideas - Hope you don't mind my 'borrowing' them.

* * *

><p><strong>Three Strikes<strong>

Micky's was a popular establishment tucked away in an obscure corner near the pier of East 35th street, where it had been for forty years. It was a curious mix of styles - not quite an American diner, but not quite an Irish pub. It served good, hot plain solid fuel for breakfast, lunch and dinner of the type more appreciated by men than women. It was also licensed 24 hours, making it popular with shift workers. Still, cops made up the main clientele.

Eames strode into the front doors of Micky's alone; her black leather jacket giving her a tough but sexy edge. There was a slight aroma of Guinness and faint clinking sounds of knives, forks and glasses. It was pushing 2pm, and there was a lull because of the no-man's land between lunch hour and happy hour. She wrinkled her nose a little at the acrid smell of cigarette smoke drifting in from a back door. Smoking was not allowed in Micky's, but the fumes drifted in rebelliously anyway. She remembered that there was a horrid cement courtyard beyond a back door, which swung open a little too frequently as the junkies ducked out for a nicotine fix.

Goren and Eames never frequented Micky's, but her brother still did, and her father used to as well. She figured the place would take June Fletcher out of her comfort zone, and ensure her nose stayed high in the air. She also figured it would be a plausible enough setting to accidentally run into Mike Logan without raising suspicion. Eames selected a dark mahogany table in the eating area as far away from the bar as possible, and hung her jacket on the back of a wooden chair. She could feel eyes of the regulars sizing her up. Micky's was frequented by cops of several precincts, but Eames didn't recognize any over the 20 or so faces lurking at the bar or playing casual games on the two available pool tables. It didn't take long for a beer-gutted, mustached white guy aged about 40 or so approach with an offer to buy her a drink.

"No thanks. I'm meeting someone," she declined.

The guy nodded gracefully, taking her knock-back well. He was still too sober for false confidence, and simply bid her good day and walked away. Although she would never have been interested, it felt good to be acknowledged as a woman. It was something she struggled with when building her no-nonsense cop persona. She wondered if maybe she was lately sending off a more feminine vibe than she usually did.

One thing she _was_ sure of was that life was a whole lot nicer since Goren had started acknowledging her as a woman. She smiled as she remembered how just twenty minutes ago, he'd made Logan turn his back in his own PI van while Goren gently but confidently secured the old-fashioned wire just above her lace black-bra.

There was definitely more modern equipment available these days, but Mike was old school and so was his bugging device. He no longer had access to NYPD equipment, and hadn't raised a lot of cash when he first started his fledgling PI firm. To Logan's credit, he didn't rib Goren too much about his new-found possessiveness around Eames; that would likely come later. For now, the trio was on a mission. They were going to get that sex-tape back no matter what.

Wheeler had called them and reported that the search of Craven's apartment turned up not one computer, DVD or flash-drive; apparently the now-deceased corrections officer hadn't been very technical. A search for any illicit phones or computers at Rikers had turned up empty. Unlike their overlords, the prisoners were tech savvy, and knew that it was best to stream rather than download. Presumably, Dryden had done the same.

If Eames and Logan could obtain any copies June Fletcher had made today, they'd be home free. Eames had a secondary mission of her own however; she wanted avenge her partner.

Micky's was clean, but dim and uninspiring with old dark brown tiled floors, and brown rugs here and there presumably to camouflage the worn-out bits. There weren't nearly enough windows, and many of them were stained glass. Even now in the early afternoon, the combination of electric and natural light was inadequate. On the beige walls hung framed black and white pictures of various revered citizens in social and formal situations. Bizarrely, there was a large stuffed Moose's head above the fireplace with a plaque below it that read 'Micky'. The moose in question was moth-eaten in parts, but sprayed with some kind of lacquer. His eyes were glassy and soulless, but they saw what was going one nonetheless. Micky the mounted moose head had never spied Prada in his life before, but he did so now.

June Fletcher reluctantly entered the establishment, casting her eyes around with a shudder just as 'Fortunate Son' gave way to 'Bad Moon Rising' on the juke box.

I see the bad moon a risin'  
>I see trouble on the way<p>

Eames edginess manifested itself in a chuckle of sorts at the appropriateness of the soundtrack. Were they in some kind of B grade movie? The expression on the ADA's features amply demonstrated that she was not feeling the Revival. She was clearly out of her comfort zone. Eames was mildly annoyed she was wearing a similar color scheme to her own get-up. Of course June looked undeniably magnificent. The suit jacket was Prada – olive green and belted. It was coupled with a black well-tailored knee length skirt. The matching heels, handbag and subtle jewelry were the crowning glory. This was clearly a woman not to be toyed with.

Eames had deliberately dressed sensibly in a plain knit olive-green blouse and black jeans. She'd gone light on the make-up with only a little pink lip-gloss and subtle eye-shadow. The only unusual facet of her appearance had been Bobby's idea. He took one of his gold tie-clips, and attached it to the neckline of her blouse. As he secured it, he told her to touch it now and then, and that he'd be with her in spirit the whole time. She thought it was an odd gesture, but she sensed his motive for choosing the adornment hadn't been strictly romantic.

Eames clutched the black document carrier, as though assure herself that it hadn't spontaneously combusted. She had taken Carver's portfolio, and filled it with everything she needed to slay June Fletcher. She and Bobby had hastily made scans and copies of the photos and other evidence as a back-up. With the damning contents, Eames was going to attempt to make June her plaything. She knew it would not be easy, and she did not underestimate her opponent.

Eames had testified for her on a case once (which June had won of course) and found her to be astute, dynamic and verbally skilled in the courtroom. Eames had to admit she had some of the sharpest talons in the city. Bobby had shared his observations on the ADA's tightly controlled manner, and her penchant for perfectionism. This was how Alex was aiming to trip her up - by making her panic. She would have to be stealthy, as June would not easily relinquish her internal locus of control. Soft wouldn't work, but too harsh wouldn't work either. Accordingly, Eames decided to behave neither too timidly nor too aggressively. Middle class sarcasm with a little bit of conceit thrown in would be the best strategy. Not an hour ago, Goren had humbly admitted that he could indeed prove to be this woman's weak spot, and advised Eames to exploit it by making the perfectionist ADA feel she wasn't worthy of him- no matter how attractive and successful she might seem.

June Fletcher's eyes located Eames, and she walked towards the table. The lawyer was perfectly made up. Her facial features were soft and slightly dark, and she easily crossed the border from merely attractive into stunning. Her long thick dark hair was pinned back professionally. Honestly, it was hard to find a flaw in her appearance except perhaps in her dark eyes. There was something insincere and detached, as though she was just pretending to be present. Eames had always thought she lacked a certain humanity and compassion. And then there was the fact that the woman sitting in front of her had messed with her partner by stealing his suit coat. This theft ensured that Eames would scan every inch of Fletcher's flesh until she found an old bruise - and then she would to prod and press it until she flinched.

"Detective Eames," she greeted coolly, resting her pricey handbag on the table.

"Counselor"

Neither woman extended a hand.

June sat down with a deliberate look of distaste and surveyed her surroundings once again. "So this is what cops consider fine-dining."

Somehow, snobbery became her.

"Yeah, simple food – but really good." Eames plucked out a complementary mini-pretzel from the bowl in front of them and crunched at it.

June wrinkled her nose. "No doubt. Unfortunately, I will have to forgo the pleasure on this occasion. I know we agreed to lunch, but I'm due in court tomorrow and need to prepare. I hope you won't mind if I just stay for a drink."

"Suits me fine," replied Eames. She thought about ordering onion rings or chili cheese fries just to annoy her lunch companion, but decided against it - her stomach was not as tough today as she wished it were.

When a young, pretty waitress approached, June promptly ordered a margarita. This choice irked Eames, as she didn't want to recognize that she had anything else in common with Fletcher. Unfortunately, that wasn't true; they each had a sordid little secret in their past.

Eames could only hope that that in the fundamentals, they were galaxies apart, and she found herself comforted that there was a wooden table separating them.

"7-up" ordered Eames, "With a straw – no ice," she added.

June raised a plucked eyebrow. "No alcohol?"

"Not for a while," answered Eames.

"Oh, you're in a program now – good for you." Dryden had told June that Eames was a 'lush', and she believed it.

Unaware of this, Eames furrowed her brow in confusion."Nope. On medication – doctor's orders." She responded coolly. She did not throw June any fuel by asking her what she'd meant by it.

Contrary to Fletcher's belief, Eames wasn't a habitual consumer of alcohol, and indulged only on special occasions. Alex had no desire to emulate her alcoholic aunt, and it may well have just saved her life. Although she'd been out for drinks with Bobby a lot lately, she hadn't taken so much as a sip from her own bottles in weeks. If she had done so, she would have been fatally poisoned instead of sitting in front of this thoroughly unpleasant woman.

Seeing that she wasn't going to go for it, June let the issue drop and turned her attention to the drinks the waitress had just placed on the table- on square cardboard coasters no less. "Oh, my mistake then," shrugged June. "Best to follow your doctor's directions. I trust you're feeling better after your poisoning – mad honey was it? I've never heard of such a thing before."

Eames nodded. "I've recovered well enough." There was a drawn out pause, and Eames utilized it to observe her combatant. It would have been normal and logical for June to ask whether it was actually Craven or Dryden who had been responsible for her poisoning. Or perhaps she should have commented on the latest development in the case - Dryden's murder at the hands of officer Craven - but June sipped silently on her margarita instead. The ADA was a cunning woman alright, not wanting to reveal any more than she absolutely had to. However to Eames, her failure to raise these topics was telling.

While Eames was thinking, Fletcher was sizing up her physically smaller, but much more experienced adversary. Eames hoped that Fletcher would make the same error that had many had committed and regretted- underestimating her capabilities. Eames could tell that Fletcher had taken in both the tie-clip on her neckline, and the black portfolio, but had masked any reaction.

"Let's get down to business detective. Why did you ask me here?" asked the ADA sharply.

It was on! Alex took a sip from her straw. "Well, I asked you here out of professional courtesy. We've worked together in the past, and I thought I should give you the benefit of the doubt before I discussed anything with my Captain."

June's reaction was nonchalant. Eames searched for a micro expression or an increased blink rate, but observed neither. However, the ADA held her indifferent facial expression a little too long, which was a tell for insincerity. Eames sized up June's manicured fingers to find they were gripped a little too tightly around the margarita glass.

June took a further sip, and swallowed gently. It was almost too elegant. "The benefit of the doubt," she repeated in mock confusion. "Would you care to enlighten me?"

Eames opened the portfolio, twisting the cold clasp slowly. "Well, see.. I was hoping you could shed some light on this." Eames placed a photograph on the table, and slid it towards June.

She picked it up. "This is a crime scene photo from Dryden's suicide, correct?" asked June innocently.

Eames feigned surprise. "Oh, so it _was_ a suicide after all! I guess you must know something I don't." Eames knew that Fletcher had encouraged Dryden to kill himself.

The ADA looked exasperated. "Of course I'm well aware it's been ruled a murder," she corrected herself.

"Oh, so I guess you just forgot then," commented Eames sarcastically.

Fletcher shot Eames a look of superior disdain. "Of course I didn't forget. It's just that Bobby – Detective Goren- referred to it as a suicide when I spoke to him at Major Case the other day. As you know, his instincts are rarely wrong."

Eames looked annoyed that she'd had the presumption to refer to him as Bobby. " You spoke to Goren?" she asked - although she was already aware that June had made a further play for Goren.

June nodded.

Eames continued, "So he's already shown you these crime scene photos then?"

She took another drink, this time it was a gulp. "No, I haven't seen them until now." It was the truth.

"Yeah, well Goren was very concerned when he saw them. You see, it seems that David Dryden's hanging corpse was discovered wearing Goren's suit coat, which went missing just a few days ago. How do suppose a thing like _that_ could have happened?"

June kept her poker face. "How should I know? What did Goren think?"

"Well, he's not sure just how it happened. Turns out he wouldn't buy my theory," said Alex with a touch of disappointment.

"Which is?" asked June, attempting to conceal her interest.

"Well, that it had to be you who stalked my partner, stole his suit coat, and gave it to Dryden," declared Eames.

June didn't flinch. "Well I can't say I'm surprised your partner doesn't buy it. You're just out of hospital after all. Perhaps your dosage needs adjusting because that's the only explanation for why on earth you'd believe I'd do something like that."

"Fair enough, you have a better explanation?" she asked with genuine interest.

June sighed as though she were teaching a slow child how to read. "Fine, I'll humor you detective. _If_ that is indeed you partner's suit coat, then perhaps he left it at Rikers. I heard he visited Dryden and assaulted him; there's a lot of talk about your partner's actions going through the ranks."

June's words worried Eames, but she pushed the emotion aside to avoid being thrown off course. "Yes, he visited Dryden, but not until after his suit coat went missing," Alex clarified.

June nodded. "OK, so then suppose corrections officer Craven stole it. He broke into both your apartments at some point, didn't he? He and Dryden were in cahoots."

Alex tilted her head to consider it. "Well that's plausible, except for the inconvenient little fact that Craven was on duty throughout the entire evening the suit coat was stolen. In fact, didn't he supervise your visit to Dryden later than night? The Rikers visitors' register said you were there at 8pm. That's was well after visiting hours Ms Fletcher. Why exactly did Dryden need that coat so urgently?"

She rolled her eyes. "Again with the coat, why don't you just check the interview room footage. I had nothing to do with it."

"What a great idea!" exclaimed Eames. "That would clear you, wouldn't it? Except gosh darn it, there _are_ no security cameras in the interview rooms at Rikers. How unfortunate!"

June quickly ricocheted her words. "That _is_ unfortunate for me, but lucky for Goren. His assault on Dryden wasn't caught on camera. It's also very convenient that the victim and the only witness turned up dead. Your partner might just get away with it after all." She picked up the crime scene photo, and examined it closely. "You know Dryden has a lot of fresh bruises on his face. Do you think your partner put them there? I hear he' s a bit antsy when it comes to prisons - at least that's what everyone says."

Eames felt her anger surge at the veiled threat to stir up trouble for Goren, who had been nothing but honest in explaining what went down that morning at Rikers. Eames raised one open hand to repel her opponent's words. "Well I don't know about all of that. What I do know is that except for a public defender, you were David Dryden's only visitor; you gave him Goren's suit coat, and I wanna know why."

June's dark eyes narrowed. "You're being obtuse detective. So maybe it wasn't Craven who got him a jacket; but it was likely another officer or the friend of a prisoner. Dryden was obsessed with your partner, and he would have gone to any lengths to obtain one of his personal possessions. He even coerced Goren into a personal phone call in exchange for the guilty plea."

"See, the way I remember it is that you were the one who coerced Goren into that phone call. But I'm sure it's all moot June, just as I'm sure that if I order a DNA test, I'm not going to find any trace of you on his suit coat, right?" She raised her eyebrows.

June volleyed back immediately."Well even if you do, it's not as though I haven't had close contact with detective Goren. Perhaps even while when he was wearing that jacket."

"Close contact? Really?" murmured Eames with scorn.

"We may have brushed arms on several occasions. I don't recall which suit coat he was wearing," retorted Fletcher.

"He'd recall," pointed out Eames.

"Well it's nice I'm so memorable, but I don't think he's exactly the most reliable witness– too much baggage. Why do you think every prosecutor in the city asks you to testify rather than him?"

Eames didn't flinch. She'd anticipated the first stage of this conversation would not bear much fruit. Fortunately, she still had several aces waiting patiently up her sleeve. "Well, I'll be sure to let Goren know you think of him so highly."

June's lips thinned at that, and she signaled for a second margarita. "Why do you think I would do something so ridiculously risky for Dryden anyway?"

"Well, my guess is that Dryden must have had something on you – something big," declared Eames.

Fletcher shook her head dismissively. "So explain to me why he willingly plead guilty to all charges if he 'had something' on me?"

"If Dryden had nothing on you, why were you visiting him so often?" asked Eames.

Fletcher's voice sounded rational and caring. "I was concerned about the validity of his plea, and his stability. He was obsessing over Detective Goren and insisting on seeing him. I needed to check on Dryden's mental health for my own peace of mind."

Eames looked pleased. "Oh, how kind! So I gather you recommended that he be sent to the Rikers psych ward then?"

"I mentioned my concerns to officer Craven, and I instructed him to keep an eye on Dryden. I fulfilled my responsibility on every front."

"Oh that's super counselor! Silly me, for barking up the wrong tree. You know, some of my Major Case colleagues are interviewing some of the Rikers' inmates today. They might just get lucky and find out if Dryden told his cell-mate exactly who gave him that suit coat."

June responded to Eames' jab and threw a right hook of her own. "Are you threatening me detective? You really think a con's word would hold water? And now that I think of it, neither would your word."

"Really?" asked Eames, "Why's that?"

"Well I heard on the grapevine that you were accused of falsifying evidence– a letter wasn't it - Oh sure it was a decade or so ago, but those things can come back to haunt you, can't they? Actually it was during a case you worked with Kevin Mulrooney, right? The Boz Burnham thing."

Eames nodded lightly and looked down at her glass. She was horrified on the inside, but didn't let it show.

Fletcher sensed a sore spot, and continued on her tirade. "And then, coincidentally, the two of you meet up again all those years later after the very same suspect Mulrooney failed to convict turned up dead. What a pervert Mulrooney turned out to be! I'm glad _I _never had to work with him." June shuddered at the thought. "Actually detective, I'm surprised you didn't withdraw yourself from that case. The prosecutor's likely to be all over your conflict of interest when it comes to trial."

Eames flinched. The Burnham-Mulrooney case was still fresh and raw. How did Fletcher know so many details? How much more did she know? She'd clearly done her research for today's meeting. Alex took a moment to touch Bobby's tie-clip. He was here; he was listening to every word from the PI van. She could almost hear him urging her to go on. It was time to play another hand.

Detective Eames took a breath and opened her portfolio once more. "Maybe you're right counselor – after all, I've heard you were a straight A student in college. You had an interesting time in college, didn't you? Maybe a prisoner's word, or my word, wouldn't be worth much in court– but I think _these _photos might be a little more solid."

Eames carefully laid out copies of the extremely explicit photos that Carver had handed over. Alex watched with not as a pebble broke the surface of June's smooth countenance, causing the first ripples of the day. "So counselor, would you like to explain why _you _didn't recuse yourself from the Dryden case."

June was dumbstruck at the triple X rated sexual images of herself and _him_, but sensible enough not to put her foot in her mouth. She looked around the room to check nobody was watching. She closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed a large mouthful of margarita.

Eames took aim. "Zachary Pentoff was a male escort and best friend of William Gatehouse, whose case _you_ were prosecuting. You saw Pentoff's his name listed on the arrest report, but you never told anyone that you knew him, or that you had been his client when you were in college. _That_ counselor is what I call a conflict of interest, and its one that will see you disbarred." It stung Eames to say these words – they hit a little too close to home.

"Where did you get these?" asked June.

"It was an anonymous delivery in a plain envelope," answered Eames.

"That bastard!" June muttered. She clearly thought Zachary Pentoff had delivered the photos to Eames as a last 'fuck you' before heading off to the Middle East. June decided to start with ignorance and denial. "Wait... this guy is the same Zachary Pentoff that was on the list of witnesses?"

Eames was ready. "Riiight – you don't know him. It's such a common name, isn't it? That's why you didn't know they were one and the same, or maybe you'll claim the photos are doctored. We haven't been able to contact Pentoff yet. It's seems he's out of the country, but we'll find him," she said smugly. "And I'm sure he'll have some interesting insights."

"We? Your partner saw these, who else?" demanded June.

"Nobody's seen them yet - they were addressed to me. I wanted to show you first - as I mentioned - out of professional courtesy. I know what it's like to be a woman in the professions we're in. Something like this...well!"

June maintained her composure. It was kind of admirable under the circumstances. The photos were not run-of-the-mill vanilla stuff. The ADA turned the images face down to hide them. "I'll be honest, I feel a little blindsided detective, but I'm going to be frank with you. Yes these photos are real, but it's ancient history. They were taken while I was a young college student. The man in the photos was a guy I slept with a couple of times named 'Penn'. He was older, and I was impressionable and under a great deal of stress to succeed in an accelerated program. You know what college is like; it's a time when a young woman experiments. I may have let him take advantage of me, but he wasn't an escort and I did not know him by any name other than Penn."

Eames had to hand it to her, she was smooth as cream. "Well, there's experimenting June, and then there's _that." _Eames picked up the worst photo and turned it back over to show her. "I've seen some pretty degrading stuff in Vice, but is that a…? Oh my god, you didn't even know his full name and he let you..."

"ENOUGH!" June yanked back the photo from Eames and slammed it down on the table.

That was strike one. Eames felt horribly guilty about doing this to her. But she knew that she couldn't relent until she'd uncovered the truth. The ADA's control was starting to slip. And Eames knew that there had to be a tragic desperation locked up inside of the costly Faberge egg of a woman who sat before her - a desperation that led her to perform and record these indecent sexual acts with a male prostitute at such a tender age.

Eames continued her attack. "See, that's not quite right June. He couldn't have been just your temporary boyfriend because the photos weren't the only evidence that turned up. Pentoff wasn't freelance back then like he is now. We have the records from his agency, and a letter from a witness." This was all true – Carver's dossier had contained more than just photos. "And I'm sure a check of Pentoff's recent LUDS could turn up a call or two to you counselor."

"Oh please! None of this so-called evidence would stand up," was all the ADA could muster.

"Well, why don't we call Jack McCoy and discuss it first. I know he's concerned about all his ADAs being ethical, and of good character, but I'm sure he'd be discreet." Bobby had conveyed to Eames what Logan had told him. June Fletcher was no fan of the current District Attorney, though none of them knew why.

"McCoy? He wouldn't dare try do impugn my character. Look at his past, and all those women!" sniped June.

"Well I wouldn't know about that," commented Eames. "Did you know the murder victim William Gatehouse? Were you his client?" she continued. She really wanted to know.

"I swear I'd never met him, nor even heard of him until I was assigned this case. My thing with Penn – it was just a coincidence!"

"Well we'll get Penn to confirm that just as soon as we get a hold of him."

She scoffed. "Good luck with that. He's probably kneeling before a middle Eastern prince as we speak. You blew it detective. You missed your chance when you interviewed him. You had Dryden's accomplice right in front of you and you didn't even know it. If you weren't so infatuated with your partner, you might have seen it. Major case? Major disgrace more like it!"

Eames was shocked, and her detective blood demanded to know more. "_How_ exactly was Penn involved?" she asked. This was news to her.

"I don't know. I just know that he was. Penn saw me commenting me on the case television, and he remembered me. He blackmailed me into keeping Dryden quiet and content in Rikers – that's why I took the suit coat. I thought it was harmless, and I knew if these photos got out, then my career would be finished."

Eames was slightly surprised she had admitted to taking the suit coat, and to knowing Penn. She understood however, that June wouldn't have done so if she didn't feel confident that she was shortly going to slam Eames with a revelation of her own. Eames decided to play it carefully to get as much out of her as possible before the explosion. "So you were a victim here too," Alex offered sympathetically.

To her surprise, that was strike two.

"I'm NOT a victim!" June pummeled her fist on the table like a gavel, attracting several shocked glances from the bar.

"Well why don't you explain your side of the story to me?" asked Eames softly.

"Oh you don't get to call the shots here Detective Eames," said June with whispered menace. "Not unless you want your dirty secret to come out too, you hypocritical little slut."

At that threat, Eames's heart pushed up to her throat. June couldn't possibly know that Eames had paid William Gatehouse to come to her apartment and sleep with her, could she? At that time in her life, Alex had been chronically and unhealthily grieving. Any dating she attempted had failed, and she fell emotionally and sexually dysfunctional. She was stuck and unable to move on with life, so she'd taken that extreme step.

Was her motive for seeing an escort any better than June Fletcher's? Eames knew that she herself should have withdrawn from the case when she'd recognized William's dead body that first day, and here she now was flaying Fletcher for not doing the same when she'd seen Pentoff's name on the witness list

But no. It couldn't be! Bobby was sure - convinced - that not one other soul knew about Alex's indiscretion. She touched the tie clip to give her strength to continue. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked June in the eye. "So I'm a hypocrite, am I?" Eames wasn't sure if she was asking June a question or confessing to her own sins.

"Yeah, you're a hypocrite – you and your partner," said June, holding her gaze. She looked malevolent.

"What's my partner got to do with this?" asked Eames.

"Well that's what this is all about isn't it? Your partner -you're territorial, and I threaten you."

"That's amusing June, " replied Eames.

"No, it's sad _Alex."_

"Right…um remind me again, why would I feel threatened by you?"

"Because you know I find your partner a very attractive man," she said with a wink.

"Really? That's surprising. 'cos He doesn't seem like your type Fletcher. What did you say? Too much baggage, right?"

"Isn't that what your afraid of? That he'll shed his 'baggage' in favor of some luxury designer luggage," she asked. Clearly referring to herself.

The tension escalated. "I don't know about you ambitions June. They seem a little lofty. See, I heard you already make a play for Goren, and he turned you down flat." Eames tried not to look too triumphant.

She seemed to crouch like a lioness, ready to pounce. "You and I both know it's only a matter of time before I have him eating out of my hand."

"You're very confident, aren't you?" Eames looked at her judgmentally, like she had no reason to be.

June sat back into her wooden chair, and reached for her Prada handbag. "Yes I'm confident; in fact, I'm in no doubt that I can outperform you in every way; in the workplace, in the bedroom, and in this silly little game of one-upmanship we're engaging in. You see, I'm certain that you're going stay silent about everything you _think_ you have on me. I'm also convinced that you're going to end you fledgling mid-life crisis fling with your 'Bobby' before the day is out. Moreover, you're going to request a transfer tomorrow. And you're going to tell Detective Goren you can no longer work with him or see him because your budding sexual relationship has compromised both your integrity and professionalism."

Eames shook her head and smiled before bearing her solid eyes at this heartless creature. She decided to issue a denial just to feign a genuine reaction. "Our sexual relationship? There wasn't, nor has there ever been a sexual relationship between Detective Goren and me. That kind of unsubstantiated gossip has been following us around for years. Nice try counselor," she sneered. She knew that would be enough provocation to get what she'd been wanting from this woman.

June Fletcher did not answer with words, but reached into her handbag and withdrew a silver full-screen cell-phone with attached earphones. She adjusted the screen controls by caressing her long fingers across the glass, prior to passing the phone across the table towards Eames. The ADA looked smug.

Alex tentatively looked at the screen, knowing full well what she would see - but dreading it all the same. She felt a solid stone in the middle of her stomach weighing her to the spot. Alex pressed a earbud close to, but not touching, one ear.

The video clip was dim, lit by candlelight, and music could be heard in the background. She saw herself kneeling over Bobby on his bed, her naked buttocks bent over him, facing the lens. Although the view was somewhat obscured by her form, her memory told her that this was the moment when she was applying the condom, and her mouth, to his penis for the first time. She desired nothing more than to throw June's phone across the room, but she was stubborn enough to not let June see her lose it.

When Alex heard her own recorded voice stating 'You look beautiful Goren.', she wanted to sink into the floor and dissolve, so keen was the humiliation. It hurt to know that Dryden and Fletcher had stolen away their precious first night together and watched it with their savage eyes. Willing her hands to stop shaking, she pressed 'stop' and slid the phone across the table to its owner.

June protested a little, but her eyes looked deranged and shiny with triumph. She looked around and whispered. "But you're getting to my favorite part, where you tell him how succulent you find his big vanilla ice-cream cock!"

Eames was tough. Most people had no idea how tough. This was humiliating sure. But if it was all Fletcher could throw at her, then she could withstand it. Alexandra Eames was a woman whose young husband had been ripped from her life in an instant. She was a woman who had been dangled from an industrial meat hook while she listened to Amanda Hsin be slowly tortured and butchered. Detective Eames had shot and killed four men in the line of duty in her long career. She'd been stalked, hit, threatened and harassed more than anyone should in a lifetime and all in the name of protecting the community. Alex Eames was made of stronger stuff, and a video file seemed suddenly inconsequential compared to the things that truly mattered. Her family, her Bobby, and the second shot at happiness in life she had just been granted with him.

Eames looked at June pretending she hadn't known this was coming. "Where did you get it? We didn't film this!"

"Alas, I had nothing to do with it. Dryden sent it to me. I don't know if he put the camera there himself, or if it was Craven." she stated factually.

Eames decided to get weak and emotional to see what would happen. "Why?" She asked tearfully. "Why would Dryden install a camera in Bobby's room?"

"He was a sick man, obviously; he was obsessed." June almost sounded sympathetic now that the tables were turned, and Eames was facing humiliation of the sexual kind.

"Who else did he send it to? Who else knows about this?" asked Eames.

"Relax detective. I'd say you're safe or this'd be out already. It can be our little secret- just like my photos. It will be fun. Sort of like a covert sisterhood." Fletcher's smile showed that she was certain that she had regained control of the conversation. "We both know what it's like to be in this kind of profession after all," June added, reaching over and to pat Alex on the forearm.

Eames jerked her arm away in disgust at her evil touch, and the condescending expression on her face. "You probably have a thousand copies ready to go whether or not I agree to your terms. Just how many computers have you downloaded this to?"

Eames needed to know that in order to ascertain just how far Logan was going to have to take this to get the outcome they wanted. He'd already offered to go to June's apartment tonight to take care of any copies, but she did not want to put him in the repulsive position of being anywhere near this vampire.

"I told you to calm down, Detective. When I got the emailed file from Dryden, I downloaded it to this one phone only. It's a no name cell, and mine is a web-based email, not a work-based one."

Eames rubbed her forehead and shook her head.

June continued with a reasonable tone. "Look - I'll give you seven days. If by the end of that period you request a transfer from Major Case, break up with Goren, hand over those photos, and keep your mouth shut about Penn, I'll delete the footage. I'll also wipe the master file from my email account. You can even watch while I do it."

"That's a lovely fantasy counselor, but you and I both know it's gonna get out no matter what I do, so why should I save your ass? The video could leak from Dryden's end. If I go down, so do you."

The ADA sought to convince her. "Look, the email came from Dryden's Brownlow College account. I'm sure Major Case's warrant still covers it if you want to get to it and delete it, but the case is closed. No one's going to look into this unless you start kicking up the hornet's nest."

Eames breathed out in an effort to look like she was relaxing. "What was Dryden doing with your private email anyway?" she asked.

"I told you. He was suicidal. I wanted to make sure he was OK."

Eames shook her head. "I don't believe you."

June set her jaw with determination. "Well, it's immaterial anyway detective. You've got no choice here. If you show anyone my photos, then your little sex video will be sent to the Chief of Detectives, Captain Ross and every cop, firefighter, paramedic, judge and lawyer in New York City. I know a lot of people, and I have a lot of pull in this town. Why it would only take one phone call to have your night of middle-aged fucking beamed out over Times Square." June watched for Eames' reaction, reveling in the distress that she saw.

It egged her on. "Oh..don't worry detective Eames, I'll edit it a little to make sure I get your best angles. I suppose it's more challenging for a woman in her forties to look good, but the candlelight really was your friend. You have nothing to be ashamed of…well except maybe the part where he told you he loved you. What was it that you said in reply? Oh yeah," June fluttered her eyelashes and imitated Eames in a breathy voice, "'_I love the look in your eyes when you love me'. **That**_ must have bruised his ego. He really does deserve better."

Eames shuddered as she visualized her threat and thought of June watching her in bed with Bobby - she must have watched it several times at least to have picked all that up. Eames fury was bubbling like a geyser. "And you think he deserves the likes of you. If you send that out, Goren will lose his badge for sure."

"And I'll be there to console him in his time of need," she smiled.

"Goren's a smart man. He'll see right away what you're capable of. You really think he'd be interested in someone who's authoritarian, inflexible, heartless and sexually used up before even hitting thirty?" Her aim was to make June feel unworthy.

"Over a sagging, sad widow who's content just to hide under his professional shadow - sure. I'll make him feel good, in more ways than one." June was as self-assured and brutal as a dictator.

Alex wanted to scratch the barracuda's eyes out, stab her eyeballs with a toothpick, and drop them into her martini, but she coughed instead – which was her pre-arranged cue for Logan to enter. She needed some back-up, and a time-out. Goren was always close by during interrogations, and Eames felt his absence keenly. She knew he had been listening to the whole conversation via the wire, but she needed to hear his voice.

"I need to go to the bathroom. I feel nauseous; I'll be back in a minute." said Alex weakly, snatching up the photos and placing them roughly in the portfolio. She stood up, and realized she wasn't kidding about feeling sick. The air was thick and warm, and she couldn't seem to take in any oxygen. She was still weak from her poisoning, but more so from the poison words June was spraying her with.

"Take your time," called out June cheerfully, as Eames started to walk towards the ladies' room. Before she got half way there, she saw him.

"Detective Eames, is that you?" rang out the confident voice of Mike Logan. He pulled her towards him in his strong arms and embraced her, and she returned it willingly. She honestly needed a hug, and the relief she felt was fortifying.

"Logan?" What are you doing here? Alex asked in mock surprise.

"Just meeting Smiddie for a drink. Ex-cops are allowed in Micky's too you know," he joked.

She smiled. "It's so good to see you! How's life as a PI going?"

Mike glanced sideways at Fletcher, raising his eyebrows and giving a slight nod in her direction. He knew he looked good in his jeans and long black leather jacket, and he noticed Fletcher's appreciative eyes scanning him. "Forget about me Eames. How are you doing? I thought you were in hospital. Are you alright?"

She looked up at him, drawing strength from their little act. "Released yesterday. Actually, I'm still feeling a little bit under the weather, though. Would you excuse me a minute Logan?"

"Sure, you OK Eames? You need me to call someone?"

"I'm fine Logan really. Why don't you catch up with Ms Fletcher. I'll be back in just a minute."

"Well if you insist," he called to her retreating form.

He sat down confidently in Eames' chair and looked across the table mentally noting the empty martini glasses. "It's been a long time, hasn't it counselor? May I buy you a drink?" asked Logan. He used his smoothest voice to address his former one-night-stand.

June Fletcher re-crossed her legs and nodded.

* * *

><p>When Eames entered the restroom, she was pleased to find it unoccupied. Fortunately, Micky's didn't have many female customers. She took a couple of breaths, checked her wire, and spoke into the mic. "Logan's in place, I'm alone in the restroom. I'm calling you now -pick up." She got out her cell and found his number.<p>

Goren snatched up his phone on the first ring. "Eames? Are you OK? It sounded pretty tense." He'd heard every word from Mike's van where he was collecting and monitoring the recording

"I'm OK Goren. I just needed a breather." She sought to reassure him because his voice sounded almost panicky.

"You're doing great, just great Eames. She's a nasty piece, but we've both handled worse," he pointed out.

They had indeed. Nicole Wallace for one.

"You need me to come? 'Cos I can be there in two minutes," he offered.

"No, I'm OK Bobby, really.. Let's just stick to the plan," she said. The farther away that Bobby was from this, the less likely he was to lose his job. "Did you buy that she doesn't have any more copies of the video?" she asked him. Alex had believed her, but wanted Bobby's insight.

He sounded pleased. "She was telling the truth about that at least, I could hear it in her voice. This means we're the clear now. Once Logan gets that phone, it's over," Bobby declared. He was almost giddy.

"How do you think he's doing?" asked Alex. Logan wasn't wearing a wire.

"Oh he'll get the job done. I trained him well. I'm sure her cell-phone's in his pocket already. Is she suspicious he just turned up like that?"

"Not a bit," answered Eames. "In fact, she looked pleased to see him."

Alex's plan was turning out even better than she'd anticipated. When she had been forced to rest in her hospital bed, she'd utilized the spare time by hatching a scheme to disable ADA Fletcher. Furious was an inadequate word to describe the way she felt when she'd seen the crime scene photos of Dryden's body wearing Bobby's suit coat. When Alex found out that June had apparently provoked Dryden by telling him that she'd seen Goren kissing and touching his partner, her suspicions as to the extent of June's involvement in the matter skyrocketed. Bobby and Alex had only kissed in public once; the night the suit coat was stolen. June must have been close-by, and that was very, very creepy. This prompted Alex to call Carver to dig up some dirt. And when Bobby and Logan met for a beer, she instructed Goren to teach Mike a magic trick or two.

This was because during the murder investigation of the magician Miles Stone a year or so ago, she'd witnessed Bobby easily steal a handcuff key from an unsuspecting cop. Bobby had called it 'misdirection' – a form of distraction. Fortunately, Logan had been a quick study, and it seemed he had quite knack for it.

When Eames called the barracuda to invite her to lunch, she kept her tone friendly and chose a public meeting place to keep it unofficial. But Eames still made it clear that she was issuing a dare. June, being in the legal field, recognized a challenge when she heard one. Eames was positive the young ADA would bring the video footage on some sort of media device as ammunition.

Alex was beyond relieved that the only remaining footage was on Fletcher's cellphone. Even just an hour ago, Logan had been insisting on using whatever device he stole from her as an excuse to knock on June's door later that night. He then planned to claim that he'd found it at Micky's. After that, he figured he'd drink a few, bed her if he had to, and then raid her computers and apartment after she fell asleep. He referred to it as 'taking one for the team.'

Eames had expressly forbid it, almost as vehemently as she's insisted on Bobby's minimal involvement. She did not want an evil woman like June near Logan or her partner. With Bobby far removed from the action, he could not be accused of any wrongdoing if the shit hit the fan and June blabbed.

Even if she June did talk, Logan would in the clear because he no longer worked for the NYPD. Eames had herjob offer from Carver and her 'Plan B' kept her feeling secure. It was only Bobby she worried about. She wanted him safe from any further professional and personal scrutiny. She knew her partner was on tenterhooks, and that his health couldn't take much more. The burst blood vessel is his eye and his blood pressure results had her concerned. If she had to, she would construct a Great Wall of China around him to protect him.

"Eames? You still there?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah, you think Logan's done?" she responded.

"Give him another minute," he instructed. "Are you really OK Eames?" He was trying to treat her like 'Eames' and not like 'Alex' since they were really working a case, albeit an unofficial and unsanctioned one.

"Let's just say I'm glad I didn't bring my gun," she joked. She didn't have her badge either.

"After Mike takes her cellphone, I want you to just leave Eames – walk away."

"You know I can't do that Goren -not until I know why she wanted Dryden to die." Over the years, she'd watched her partner's desire to understand why people committed the heinous acts they did. His curiosity about the 'why' had rubbed off on her. She had to find out just what June Fletcher's motive was.

"Just watch yourself Eames. I'll be listening. I'm right there with you."

"OK Bobby," she tried to stifle a sob. She wanted him right there with her always.

"Detective Eames?" he said.

"Yeah?"

"You're the best there is. Go get her."

Eames ended the call because she was afraid she'd start crying. She put her cell-phone away and splashed water on her face. "OK Bobby," she whispered, knowing he could hear her voice through the microphone. She looked in the mirror, smoothed her hair, and tried to compose herself. Portfolio still tucked under her arm, she made her way out of the restroom. Logan was sitting in her chair, drinking whiskey on the rocks and flirting with June.

He looked up. "Detective Eames! I kept your seat warm for you." He gave her a wink, and she knew he had the cell phone. It was the sign they'd agreed upon. "You feeling better?" he asked sincerely.

"Yeah, I feel much better all of a sudden. Listen Logan, I need to talk to the counselor about a case. Why don't you give Bobby a call and we'll all catch up sometime later in the week?"

"Sure doll. I can take a hint," he downed the last of his drink and got up. "Just don't stand me up, like my buddy Smiddie seems to have done. I'm gonna give him a call, and I might just give you a call later too June if you're lucky," he swaggered.

Fletcher rolled her eyes, but she was loving the attention. "You'd be the lucky one if I pick up Mike."

He stooped down and whispered in the ADA's ear. "See you soon," and strode off with a little too much confidence, taking a handful of pretzels as he went. Both women watched him as he walked away.

Eames shook her head. Her smile faded, and her countenance turned tough as she turned her gaze back to June. "Stay away from him. He's a good guy," warned Eames.

June clucked. "My my, we're protective of Mike Logan, aren't we? Are you interested in him? I know first hand that he's really good in bed. He might be a nice consolation prize for you."

Eames stared at her with ire. The bitch looked so _cocksure,_ and she needed to be slapped down.

June went on. "I think we should wrap things up detective; we both have more pressing issues to attend to. So what terms did we agree upon? That's right. I want you request your transfer, end your um.. fraternization, give me those photos and make any copies disappear, and your amateur porn will never see the light of day. Do all that before the week's out, and I won't be in your face again. So, do we have a deal Detective Eames?"

"Well I maybe, but there's just one problem," said Eames in confusion.

"What's that?" asked June.

"Well, I don't make deals with the devil, counselor," she said seriously. Her brown eyes bore into June's even darker ones.

The ADA laughed insincerely. "My my - so dramatic! This is killing you isn't it? To lose out to me – not quite what you planned when you invited me for lunch, was it?"

"Not quite," said Eames. "There's just one missing piece of the puzzle I can't figure out."

"And what's that?"

Eames took opened the black portfolio, and removed a piece of paper. "I would just really like to know why you tried to persuade Dryden to take his own life," she asked, raising her inflection.

"What the hell are you talking about?" the counselor snapped.

Eames placed the printed copy of the email on the surface of the mahogany table on full display. She watched with interest as Fletcher picked it up and read her poison pen letter.

_You've lost him now David! The only place you can get over this is in heaven. _

June's reaction to the email was strong. She was losing some of her spit and polish and her nostrils flared as she spoke. "I didn't write this! What the hell does it mean anyway? It could be from anyone."

"No June, it's from you. That cryptic email address spells your name. And you know exactly what the words mean because you wrote them after Dryden sent you that video file." She didn't want to give June time to think about how she'd gotten hold of it. "Why did you want Dryden to go to heaven? I don't get it."

Fletcher spoke in slow measured tones, but her voice was choked with anger. "I had nothing to do with Dryden's death. Craven killed him. You know this."

Eames was on a roll and she leaned forward and looked at the counselor with contempt. "Well maybe Dryden didn't struggle and yell as much as he might have. Maybe he just let Craven string him up," she accused.

"Oh, so what! David Dryden was probably drafting suicide notes when he was in pre-school," she said dismissively.

Eames was disgusted. "Why June, why did you do it?"

She exhaled to show her exasperation. "I really don't have time to sit here and be interrogated by a second-rate detective who rides on her junior partner's coattails." I've got an email I've gotta send to the Chief of Detectives," she said wickedly.

Eames didn't miss a beat. "Not from that email account I hope. I think it might have been deleted," commented Eames with a touch of false regret.

"Nice try Eames. It's still on my phone."

Alex watched in amusement as she rifled through her black Prada handbag, checking her work cell. The no-name phone was currently resting securely in the pocket of Mike Logan's leather jacket.

"Where is it?" asked June, darting her eyes around the floor.

"What?"

"My phone. Give it back."

"You've lost your phone?" It was almost fun to watch, but Eames knew the tide was about to turn.

June tried to keep her cool, but her makeup was starting to shine on the middle of her forehead. She called the number of the no-name with her work phone. To June's frustration, there was no ring, and no answer. She put down her work phone. "It's my property. Give it back," she demanded firmly, but the control in her voice was slipping.

Eames shrugged. "I don't have your phone."

"You really think that's the only copy of that video file I've got?" June challenged.

Eames looked at her and smiled. "Yeah, I do. I think it's the only copy you've got. You told me so yourself. You only have that one master on your now defunct email account."

"Yeah, but I lied," said June petulantly.

"Is that right? I don't think you did – at least not about that," replied Eames in a relaxed fashion.

"I'll just get a copy from Dryden's college account!" threatened June. The detective's cool and confident manner was causing the counselor to feel more twisted up inside than the cheap pretzels on the table.

"Well I guess I could my colleagues from Major Case to look into that for you," replied Eames. "We do have a warrant after all." She was implying that Major Case would find the file and delete it from the server, of course Goren had already gone to Brownlow and done just that.

That did it. June's level of hostility climbed several notches into the red zone, but she was still wise enough to keep her voice low to avoid attracting even more attention from the other patrons. "Oh you think you have friends, do you? Do you honestly think you could get the better of me you fucking little chipmunk. You think this is just going to disappear? You have no idea how well connected I am. I'm talking politicians, the mayor's office, NYPD brass – I even know the inner circle of the fucking 'La Cosa Nostra' of Staten Island. I could make you disappear with just one quick phone call." She snapped her fingers for effect. "Don't even try to fuck with me Eames, you won't last a day."

Eames needed to de-escalate the situation since Fletcher had basically just threatened Eames with a Mafia hit. "OK, Fletcher," she said, holding up her hands in defeat. "OK, I get it – all this- it's not worth it for either of us."

"So back the fuck off and drop this, and hand me my goddamn phone," she spit out.

"I'll give you back your phone on one condition," said Eames with a confidence she did not feel.

"What?" said Fletcher through gritted teeth.

"Why did you want Dryden to kill himself? You said you weren't a victim, but I don't know if that's true. Just tell me what happened and you get your phone. I'll walk away; I'll do what you ask. "

June laughed and shook her head. She was convinced she had regained control of the situation by frightening the detective out of her wits. She knew Eames would be an easy scare. She didn't even have to stoop to threaten her surrogate nephew. Fletcher decided to tell the cop her story, but she was revealing it because she wanted to, not because she was compelled to. "Fine then if you really want to know…"

Eames nodded. She really did want to know.

June began her story. "Pentoff - Penn approached me during the arraignment proceedings. He didn't overtly threaten me or fully admit to aiding and abetting the Gatehouse murder, but I knew he had a hand in it. And I knew he had a copy of those photos. I just never thought he'd send them to _you_," she added.

What June didn't add was that she had taken up Penn's offer of free sex. Penn always did exactly as he was instructed in the bedroom, and June appreciated that no act was too base for him.

She continued to tell Eames the edited version of her story. "Dryden was happy to confess, but he started to become more agitated when he realized that Goren was not going to visit him at Rikers. Penn encouraged me to keep Dryden happy – that's all. That's why I kept visiting him and why I took him the suit coat – It was to keep him distracted. The more he obsessed over Goren, the less he thought about anything else, including revealing Penn's involvement."

June reflected inwardly on those events. Of course she hadn't let Dryden know that she was manipulating him at the time. She let him think he had the upper hand at all times, and that she was exchanging the jacket for dirt he had on Eames. All that Dryden had managed to come up with was that she was an alcoholic, and June was disappointed that it wasn't something more. June looked across at a now silent Eames. Seeing her defeat, the ADA felt compelled to continue telling her tale. "I could tell Craven was pulling his strings somehow, but I never did know the extent of it. All I knew was that Dryden was becoming unstable, and it was only a matter of time before he spilled the beans."

Eames finally spoke. "And if he spilled the beans on Penn, those photos would be released in retaliation, and you would have lost your job - not to mention the humiliation."

June drained the last drop of her third martini. "That's right. I guess you can relate to that, can't you detective? Your being Goren's senior partner, well that could be construed as sexual harassment in the eyes of the law," June smiled. "And can you imagine your family watching that video? You come from a family of cops, don't you - that would be humiliating for them too."

"Eames shook her head to clear the image. "Fine I get it. But we have an agreement now, don't we?" asked Eames. June seemed to be far too confident about getting the phone and the video file back in her possession. Perhaps she thought the death threat had done the trick.

June nodded with satisfaction. "Yeah we have an agreement. So anyway, I sent Dryden the harmless little email. Oh don't look so shocked. It obviously didn't work – Craven murdered him in the end. If I'd known he was going to do my dirty work for me, I wouldn't have bothered," she said glibly. She paused then, indicating her story was over. She leaned forward and smiled insincerely. "Regarding our deal detective, I'd appreciated it if you'd give me back my phone - _now_." Her eyes were as cold as ice.

As Eames looked at the black-hearted woman, she wondered if there might be something else incriminating on that phone. "Well about that counselor, I was telling you the truth earlier. I really don't have it." Eames checked around the floor as though trying to locate it. That little act was strike three.

Junes voiced raised an octave. "Cut the games Eames and hand it over; it's my property!" June stood upright as quick as lightning. Her eyes were detached, but determined. Eames recognized the dangerous look. She had seen it in the eyes of many criminals. It meant that and a tsunami was on its way.

Eames got up too and reached for her gun on instinct. Realizing she wasn't armed, she extended her open hands gently towards June. "Back up Fletcher. You're not going to touch me. Just sit down, and we'll look for it." She tried to be firm, but not threatening.

June took a step back and picked up an empty martini glass which she struck against the table, shattering it into jagged fragments. A growling sound emanated from the ADA's vocal cords as she lunged forward with the broken glass. She directed her weapon towards the gold tie-clip, which was located right below Eames' throat. The deranged woman jabbed the broken glass forward with a sudden and incredible fury.

Eames reacted quickly in her own defense. A moment before the glass could make contact, she jumped back and pushed the heavy table towards June. Eames maintained her body at a safe distance from her assailant and swiftly swung her leg in a circular motion with full force, giving Fletcher a roundhouse kick to the hip. June went down, her stilettos causing her to lose balance easily.

The bar was full of cops, and four or five officers who'd witnessed the events came rushing over.

June was on the floor. "She stole my phone and kicked me," she yelled, as one young officer attempted to help her up.

Eames found herself being yanked back by the mustached man who had earlier offered to by her a drink. She spoke up with authority. "I'm Detective Eames, Major Case. Place this woman under arrest for assault.' She was relieved that she wasn't being manhandled closely enough for her wire to be evident. She Bobby, and Logan would have to discuss what do with the recording later.

Mustache man let her go with an apology. Two plain clothes police officers stood on either side of June, preventing her from going for Eames. "I'm June Fletcher of the DA's office. She assaulted _me_! Let go of me!". Her tight hairdo was falling out strand by strand.

The officer to her right replied. "Ma'am, I saw the whole thing. You went for Detective Eames here with a broken glass; she kicked you to protect herself. I'm going to have to take you in."

Eames looked down at her chest and rubbed her neck. There was no blood. She was relieved; she'd had enough of hospitals. She suddenly felt proud that the boys in blue were on her side. She looked up to see Logan hurriedly entering the front doors, closely followed by Bobby.

Detective Goren was aware didn't have his gun, badge or cuffs, but all he cared about was Eames. He had no idea just what had happened because he'd dumped his headphones the moment he heard the glass smash. He parted through the crowd of cops. "Detective Goren, Major Case. She's my partner."

One of the cops, a sergeant, recognized both Goren and Logan; he'd worked with both of them once or twice in Narcotics or Homicide over the years, and had nothing but respect for the way they operated. He also knew not to mess with the big leagues.

"Well it seems your partner was assaulted by that woman over there. Major Case got jurisdiction on this?" the Sergeant asked Goren. Bobby didn't answer as he checked his partner over for injuries.

"No they haven't," answered Logan on his behalf. "The local precinct had better take care of this one for now. Detective Eames will be happy to come in and give a statement after she's called her captain."

Mike had a natural authoritative charisma, and was good at crowd control. He was canny enough to know that this situation could be even more of a clusterfuck if Goren or Eames were the arresting officers. This was an unauthorized operation, and he was going to make sure it looked like the whole kit and caboodle had been instigated by Logan Investigations. Mike glanced over at Eames. Apart from looking a little disheveled, she seemed fine – cooler than Goren right now, though the man was desperately trying to maintain a professional air so as not to embarrass her as he checked her over.

Just then a loud, clear young male voice rang out through Mickey's. "June Fletcher, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney, if you cannot…."

The ADA projected her voice louder than the anonymous arresting officer. "I am an attorney and this arrest is illegal. It won't hold up in court - none of it. Mike - tell them. What's happening here?"

Logan smiled. "I think they're going to take you down to the precinct honey and take a few pictures. Don't worry, you like cameras right?" Logan enjoyed slipping in that jibe. Before and during their one night stand, she had tried (but failed) to cajole him into screwing her on camera. Something told Logan that she had being successful in enticing no small number of lawyers, cops and judges into doing the same. She'd just had more than her fair share of impossible wins in court; she had to have had some outside help.

The ADA bucked in her handcuffs. "You bastard! You were in on this." She looked at Eames and tried to gain control of the situation by speaking calmly and rationally. "She's got my phone. That detective's got my phone and I want it back."

"Do you have her phone Detective Eames?" asked one of the arresting officers.

"No – all I have on me is my purse, my own phone, and this portfolio." She tapped the black document carrier confidently, feeling backed up by everyone in the room.

"Then I'll have to take you at your word detective," declared the officer.

June looked at Bobby standing tall and stoic beside Eames and simply lost it. "Oh you bitch! It won't hold up in court. You're going down Eames; I warned you. You and your nut-job of a partner. You were in on it all along, weren't you Goren! Major Headcase – that's what they call you Goren -everyone from the ground up – you and your fucking tie-clips! You're going down...you just wait till everyone finds out what you've been doing."

The sergeant who recognized Goren got his back up. "OK, that's enough Ms Fletcher. Take her out of here boys," he directed, jerking a thumb towards the door.

And June Fletcher regained her composure as she was hauled away.

As everyone gawked and gossip, Goren whispered to his partner. "Eames, you really OK?

"Yeah," she answered. She had no scratches, no blood.

"Phone's safe and clean," he whispered softly in her ear.

Eames retrieved her jacket and went to the bathroom where she took the opportunity to remove her wire, which she handed to Logan discreetly. The three of them would decide together when and how to use it the audio. It might need some editing first if their sex tape were to remain under wraps. Also, June had no idea the recording existed, so the lies she was likely to tell about her version of events could easily be disproved.

Logan bid Goren and Eames goodbye and went back to his van, telling them that he'd secure all the evidence, and call Ross to explain what else had gone down. He shook hands with them both. He'd gotten a buzz from working with them again, and helping them out. He was starting to get bored always investigating in isolation.

* * *

><p>Goren and Eames sat together in the back of a cop car on their way to the local precinct. Eames would have to give a statement on the assault, but the sheer quantity of reliable witnesses would see her in the clear. It was June's big mouth Goren was worried about. Still, he was calmer now he knew that Eames' mission had been successful, and that she wasn't physically hurt. Mentally he knew, it had been tough on her. But she was the toughest, most resilient person he'd ever met, and he'd served in the army!<p>

"How'd you know the tie-clip would annoy her so much?" asked Eames.

He looked at her and smiled. "Just a hunch."

"You think she was bluffing with the Mafia thing?"

Although he wasn't entirely sure, Goren kept it cool. The last thing his partner needed to think about now was another death threat hanging over her head. "I think she was just scared Eames."

She looked at him. "It's not over yet, is it?" she said. "I have no idea what June's going to say – or do."

"Yeah, but the worst part's over," he whispered. He squeezed her hand. He was so relieved that the sex-tape was not going to leak. Even if its existence was alluded to, nobody could ever watch it again. They'd plugged every leaky hole one by one and had claimed that night back for themselves. Nor, he was sure, was anyone going to find out about Eames' long-ago liaison with William Gatehouse. As far as their partnership, its possible end scared the hell out of him, but knew he would just have to let the chips fall where they may and trust in Ross to take action as he saw fit.

He badly wanted to kiss his partner, but there were two cops in the front seat. He had to be discreet for her sake, so he settled for squeezing her hand again. In response, she opened his palm, and smiled up at him, and he had honestly never seen her brown eyes look so captivating. Her fingertips gently caressed his palm, and he closed his eyes as felt his body tingle at her touch. She traced the letter 'I' and the shape love heart, and the letter 'U' onto his skin. He felt 14 again as he turned her hand over in his and did the same to her palm, only he added a '2'. She gave him one of her ESP looks, and her eyes communicated everything she felt. It would be OK; they'd get through this, and she wasn't going anywhere.

Bobby and Alex took the rest of the week off as planned, and were only called in twice to give statements. Nichols and Wheeler were initially assigned to the case and provided regular updates. Apparently, June hadn't yet mentioned the existence of the sex-tape - most likely in an attempt distance herself from the suicide email, which had been stored in the same account. The canny ADA was smart enough to know that if Eames had indeed deleted the web-based email account, there would be no way of proving that June had written the hateful note.

And as far as Major Case was concerned, the identity of a female 'Estella' - presumably a one-night-stand of Goren's- contained in a video file that was only alluded to in a text message from Dryden...Well, the whole thing was pretty much irrelevant to the serious events in question.

Surprisingly, within two days, Internal Affairs took over the investigation. Most of the information against June provided by 'Logan Investigations' seemed of little consequence compared to some even more explosive evidence that turned up after a thorough search of June Fletcher's apartment, and the electronic equipment within. It was sensitive and salacious stuff, and the results of the search were immediately cloaked in a cloud of bureaucratic secrecy due to the high-profile person or persons involved.

A judge placed a gag order on the proceedings, and the DA - Jack McCoy - handpicked Mike Cutter and Connie Rubirosa to build a solid case against June Fletcher. The duo were the best New York City had to offer and were seen in legal circles as incorruptible. There were even rumors that the feds were now involved due to the mafia links. June was moved to a safe house for her own protection. She obviously held a lot of cards and was bargaining for her own freedom by trying to get immunity in exchange for being a whistle-blower. There were constant rumors floating around about just how deeply and widespread her hooks had sunk.

* * *

><p>AN - Please skip this part if you think you will be disturbed by violence, blood or mentions of abuse.

* * *

><p><strong>JUNE<strong>

June was now famous, and the most important woman in the state – maybe even the country. She found that she reveled in being so significant. She knew that she held all the cards, and planned to slowly reveal just what she knew about whom. Detectives Goren and Eames' fraternization was inconsequential in comparison. For now she would just bide her time, but June Fletcher ultimately did not intend to tolerate being bested by that little chipmunk. She also intended to ruin Zachary Pentoff if were daft enough ever to step inside US borders again.

She slid open the bathroom cabinet, and took out some makeup removal wipes. She assessed her beauty as she wiped off her pink lipstick. Despite a grueling few days, her complexion still looked fresh and alluring.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a small red circular laser appeared to bounce off the white tiles as well as the bathroom mirror. She squinted at the light with with curiosity, before her eyes widened in comprehension.

When the bullet first shattered a small portion of the bone in the back of her skull, June felt a surge of release - not sweet release exactly, but blessed all the same.

The (former) Assistant District Attorney would no longer need to wear make-up or sport perfectly manicured fingernails (4 layers) or to step carefully in 4 inch high designer heels ($600). Her aspiration to break the professional glass ceiling (youngest ever female DA?) faded as the bullet forged its unrelenting path into her gray matter.

The need to wield control over her lovers and acquaintances (had no friends) by directing and recording her sexual encounters was now subsiding as death beckoned. No more would she be obliged to flush out and eradicate the weak people in her vicinity; _that _particular pathological desire was now caving in even faster than her head was.

The bullet broke through to the other side, exiting her cranium just above one perfectly shaped eyebrow. Blood and chunks sprayed over the bathroom mirror as the bullet shattered the glass into pieces. June's lithe body dropped to the floor with a final show of elegance. As her consciousness started to slip and she prepared herself to die alone on a cold tiled floor, she was comforted that she would nevermore (ever) have to recollect how her Daddy used to call her 'My little June Bug' when he came to her at night while her mother (supposedly) slept in the next room. Little June bug had deceived herself into thinking that her mother never heard her cries, but Big Bad Counselor Fletcher had known the score. So as a final objection to her life, she declined to cry out in death. This was her last act of control.

Then she simply ceased to be.


	27. Alex's Apartment

A/N Mild smut alert

**Alex's Apartment**

Eames found herself alone in her apartment for the first time in days. Aware that she should almost certainly clean up or at least do something productive; she instead chose to sit on her fabric armchair and sip fragrant peppermint tea. Her body was still, but her mind roamed freely.

She'd lived alone in Forest Hills for a couple of years, but her apartment had never felt quite like it did at this moment. There was an unexpectedly solid presence here, which had only made itself known by its very absence. She recognized it as the same six foot four and a half inch silhouette that had been by her side in her professional life for more years than she could count, but its essence had never lingered in her home before. Now it seemed to have woven its way to its new setting – and she yearned for it to stay put.

Bobby had just left for 1PP having being summoned there by Ross. Despite Alex's protests, her partner had insisted on going by himself. Apparently, the captain wanted it that way too. Her partner had agreed to meet her at a nearby diner in a few hours to discuss the happenings

She felt an instant pang of regret as Goren walked out the door; they'd been in each others company non-stop for days. She recognized that it was probably healthy to put some space between them now and then, but her regret at his absence irritated her like an itchy amputated limb – only much more romantic.

Bobby hadn't been back to his apartment in almost a week and had completely run out of suitable attire (though she'd selfishly kept him mostly unclothed in order to delay his trip to procure new supplies). She was voracious for him and all his body had to offer, finding particular obsessive pleasure in running her hands through the zone that lay between his hips and outer thighs. Bobby and Alex had soaked up each others physical offerings like a parched desert welcoming a deluge; it was almost too much love for their emotional capability.

She found herself almost relieved when her monthly period had arrived two days previously, as she knew both she and Bobby were both physically and emotionally tender and could probably use a break from the bedroom. However, its arrival did not slow things down. Quite the contrary in fact - it seemed to have inspired him to reach for even greater heights of inventiveness. As a result, he had done some…well - new stuff. Boy had he done some stuff! Some of it was sweet, tender and loving and some was downright sordid. But - to be fair - she'd done her share of 'stuff' to him too.

She smiled lasciviously at the recent memories and took another sip of her tea. The heat was escaping out of her mug in sly tendrils. Undoubtedly, the atmosphere in her apartment was positively steamy.

For some reason, Bobby had been initially reluctant to let her slide off his boxers and go down on him slowly and adoringly. Apparently he found it hard to accept oral pleasure without giving ten times the amount back in kind. But at some point he just gave in to her demands and clutched her hair in his fists, and the groans and filthy language that emanated from his throat as she blew him had made her drunk with power. She endeavored right then and there to repeat the experience throughout the week until she had him begging for it.

It felt so good to love, and be loved, by a man again. She didn't mean just the physical side either; there was a new bond of trust between them that hadn't been present before. It's as though they understood that they no longer needed to be on guard to protect themselves from being hurt. There was now an unspoken acceptance that they had each others best interests at heart.

Falling asleep soundly encased in his huge, muscular arms was just an added bonus. After years feeling like his sexless colleague, she was now his sexy lover. In all those years, she'd never really had an accurate inkling of precisely how feminine and sensual he was capable of making her feel. The sensation was phenomenal.

And as for Bobby, there was a discernible shift in his soul as he learned to fulfill his new position as her lover, and it was evidently a role he was born to play. She was almost in awe as she observed how well he adapted to the change; he was clearly long overdue for it. She'd never seen him like this – so indisputably happy.

She'd even caught him doing unBobby-like things, such as calling her sister to thank her for cleaning and stocking the apartment. Throughout the awkward phone call, Alex had eavesdropped behind the kitchen door. She had to hold her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter at Bobby's choice of words; he was clearly out of his comfort zone. To add to her amusement, Alex had then attempted to fill in the blanks of Liz's inaudible half of the conversation with the most risqué things she could fathom.

BOBBY: "Uh, Liz? It's Robert Goren – Er…I mean Bobby."

LIZ: ?

BOBBY: "I just wanted to call you to thank you for all that you did."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Yeah, everything was perfect."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "No yeah - we both thought so."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Oh not right now- she's sleeping."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Yep, she's still pretty tired, but physically she's OK."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "That was real good, yeah."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Yeah, with the asparagus, uh huh."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Mmm hmm – olive oil - yea."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Sure – yeah thank you. The bath oil was fine."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Uh huh – she liked all the other stuff too – we both did."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Um no – I've been looking after her. Don't worry."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: " Yeah um... so how's Nate doing?"

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Yeah, I think we can come. I'll ask Eames when she wakes up"

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Of course not – force of habit."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "I will. Don't worry Liz."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "OK. Yeah. Later bye."

LIZ:?

BOBBY: "Uh huh – I will I promise. Bye Liz."

As Bobby hung up the phone and heaved out a huge sigh of relieve, Alex scampered off quietly to the bathroom and bit firmly on a towel in an attempt to smother her peals of laughter.

Robert Goren (er..I mean Bobby) was even becoming a little more silly and playful than Alex was strictly used to. Just three nights ago, he'd requested her assistance as he attempted to pull on her terry-toweling bathrobe (size small) after his shower. She found herself helping him to squeeze into it and giggling in his presence and partaking in all sorts of other unEames-like behavior. For instance, at one point she reached out her hand and spanked one delicious naked buttock quite firmly. She then watched with fascination as a slow and amazed reaction crossed his features. Sensing sudden risk, she scampered away like a skittish rabbit to its burrow. But the fox hunted down and captured its prey in short measure and informed her in no uncertain terms that _she_ was the naughty one. She had quickly conceded to his assertion and, as penance, willingly took her 'punishment' with good grace.

* * *

><p>On the work front, Alex had both good and bad feelings about how things were playing out. She, Logan and Goren had decided not to submit the recording of the confrontation with June Fletcher unless it was deemed absolutely necessary. With Eames' verbal testimony, it was simply not required and handing it over to the NYPD would have brought on a lot of unwanted personal and legal complications.<p>

Eames had been fully prepared to admit to the existence of the now deleted sex file. Since no one could ever see it, she figured the fallout wouldn't quite be so terrible. However, that would have meant getting Ross in hot water for covering up in the first place. She and Goren simply did not mention it, and IAB didn't ask.

It was understood that Eames approached June Fletcher alone, female-to-female, because of the sensitive and explicit nature of the photographs. They also knew Eames had had the secondary intention of asking about the suicide email. Logan Investigations had ostensibly received all of this evidence in the form of an anonymous dossier (nobody wanted to drag Carver into the proceedings). Eames explained how June had reacted badly when presented with it, and had subsequently threatened her with a Mafia hit, before trying to glass her. The cops who had been at Micky's that day bore witness to the events.

It seemed that June Fletcher had been the victim of a Mafia hit herself. Her death was considered a political assassination, and the FBI had taken over the case. The killer or killers remained unidentified and at large. June Fletcher definitely must have pissed off the wrong person or persons, and finding the culprit remained the focus of the investigation.

Eames was still slightly puzzled as to why June never brought up the existence of the sex-tape recorded in Bobby's apartment that fateful night. But Eames had a theory; June Fletcher was a sharp woman, and understood that juries could sometimes convict on pure emotion. The nature of the email Fletcher had sent to Dryden could have therefore been explosive. If she were perceived to be promoting his suicide, she would have lost all sympathy from the average citizen. So June had kept her mouth shut.

Since the email account had been deleted from the web, the ADA knew that there was no way of linking the email to her. If June had brought up the fact that she'd received Bobby and Alex's sex-tape from Dryden, it would have proved that she'd been in email contact with the disturbed killer. And that she must not have wanted. Without that connection, the email would be a useless and baseless piece of paper to any court.

Unfortunately, Zachary Pentoff could not be tracked down. His passport showed he had entered Bahrain - and apparently vanished, so his testimony was not looking likely. Eames figured that whether or not the evidence against ADA Fletcher was solid or flimsy was moot, since she was now dead.

June Fletcher had never made it to trial. Eames could now only hope that she would get her judgment in the afterlife.

* * *

><p>During the week, Alex had called her father to discuss the nature of job Carver had offered her. John Eames had vehemently objected to it, claiming that she'd be undoing the work of cops by helping criminals. Although Eames knew that that was not what Carver was about, she had decided not to accept the position anyway. Her father was going to be over the moon.<p>

Although Carver had offered health benefits that equaled the NYPD, as well as a significant increase in pay, he could not match the pension that the city would eventually give her. She'd been on the force 16 years, and only had four more to go to reach minimum retirement age. Of course she had no plans to retire at such a young age, but it was nice to know that she would be eligible to retire of half-pay in four years if she so desired.

Mike Logan had done just that, and had started his PI company with the safety net of his half-salary to fall back on. Bobby had reached his 20 years of service earlier in the year. She knew he'd been worried during his suspension that he'd never make it, but he had. It kept his options open, and she wanted the same for herself.

Besides, another reason for rejecting Carver's offer was that she found that she did not want to leave Major Case just yet. She was tired to be sure. Holding Bobby up for so long had made her that way. Even a month ago, she wasn't sure she had any reserve left. But then he had come to her and confessed his feelings, and her tank had filled back up with gas.

The last case had been too hard, too violent, and too personal, but she had coped as she always did. Even though both Craven and Dryden tried to take her out, they didn't succeed. She had already physically recovered, and would psychologically recover from this too. However, she wasn't so sure about her partner's capacity to get over the events as quickly.

His job-related stress was elevated, and that was an understatement. He was now fully expecting to endure a hearing for his assault on Dryden. He anticipated no support from anyone bar Ross. Bobby had convinced himself that Moran wanted to fire him, and take away his pension too. She told him he was overreacting, but privately she wasn't so sure.

Then there was the whole 'no fraternization' policy. Ross was going to have to make a decision on that, and Eames knew he would likely ask them to end or modify their partnership. She did not _want _to work without Bobby, but she knew that she could if she had to. He could too; he had just been feeling so low lately, that he didn't know it.

She felt low too, but not devastatingly so. She knew she had made mistakes in this case to be sure, but Eames was not one to let them crush her. Mistakes were just a learning tool. The main blunder that she made was not confiding in her partner the moment she had recognized William Gatehouse's lifeless body. She had been terrified to tell Goren something that private for fear that he would not understand. If she'd 'fessed up immediately, a lot of suffering could have been avoided.

Thinking back, the reason their partnership had been in trouble in recent years was that he had also been reluctant to confide in her on key issues. The moment they let each other know what was going on, they always managed to handle it together. However, she had begun to worry more deeply about their partnership. It had been on tenterhooks lately, and their sexual relationship was yet another change. She couldn't predict what would happen, but it would be naive in the extreme to expect the symmetry of their relationship to remain untouched now that they were no longer platonic.

It wasn't just the two of them in this though. Eames recalled that when she'd first got together with Joe, she'd experienced a lot of innuendo and unwanted comments from other cops. But at least Joe hadn't been part of the same squad. And Joe definitely wasn't like Goren. For one thing, her late husband had been popular and easy going, and could wisely let good or bad-natured ribbing slide off of his back. Things would not be so easy for Bobby because his anger would likely escalate at the first word uttered against her, and that would only stoke the fire.

Alex feared that she would lose the respect that she had worked so hard to gain if it became common knowledge that she was sleeping with her partner. Even if they were de-partnered, by continuing to work in the same squad, their ability to be objective would be questioned. Crimes handled by Major Case were too high-profile and always under intense scrutiny. Any perceived conflict of interest would be seized upon and trumped up both in the press and in the courtroom.

Maybe Ross would let them stay on as partners. If that happened, they could try their darndest to keep the personal relationship clandestine. After all, many in the force already subscribed to the gossip that she and Bobby had been involved for years - so they could perhaps continue to ignore the talk and quietly go about their business of solving cases. She trusted Nichols, Wheeler and heck even Ross with their secret. But she knew that if they continued as partners together, that their other Major Case colleagues would figure it out before too long.

Although things were going swimmingly with Bobby right now, she could not realistically expect that they would never have an argument. She knew her own temperament included an ability to give the silent treatment and hold a grudge. If a disagreement ever spilled over from the night before and barged its way into the bullpen or the SUV, would they be paying attention? During Pentoff's questioning, Goren and Eames had both completely missed his involvement in the Gatehouse murder because of the simmering tension between the two of them. Could that happen again?

Being the high-profile and successful team they were bred resentment. She had always managed to dodge the worst of it because the much misunderstood Goren had always been the easier and bigger target to malign. Sure, she had always possessed the weapon of her sharp tongue to protect her., but it was going to be much more challenging from here on out. Cops could be pettier and more vicious than teenaged-girls. She could already hear the knives being sharpened and imagine the gossip about how the big bad wack job brought his partner (and her career) to its knees.

Then there was his health, mental and physical. Worrying about whether they were going to be spotted having a romantic dinner in the city or accused of pulling all-nighters in each others apartment would undoubtedly affect him. She knew he was already worried that either of them could be transferred or reprimanded. Keeping a secret like this would be a sustained source of stress for him. She'd seen his health test results and knew he was on a fast track to a heart attack or worse if something didn't change. When she considered his blood-shot eye where a blood vessel had recently burst, she had to wonder whether the job was ultimately good for Bobby Goren.

And now he had gone into 1PP to face yet another obstacle. He had admitted in a statement to punching Dryden in the nose when he visited him at Rikers. Alex was optimistic on that front however. Bobby had never had a charge of excessive force throughout his career with the NYPD. That, and the fact that neither Craven or Dryden had reported it or issued an official complaint, stood in his favor. He had basically reported what he'd done, and there were no witnesses to refute his version if a hearing were to come to pass. Under the extreme and life-threatening circumstances of the case, Alex saw no reason why the incident shouldn't be handled solely by Ross. With any other cop in the same situation, with the same clean record when it came to violence, it would go no further.

But Goren was not just any cop. Eames was still concerned about Moran and whether the Chief of Detectives might have some sort of vendetta against her partner. On paper it didn't look good. Bobby had entered a prison once again, and it could be perceived that he had been on another personal mission just like Tates. Moran would have his chance to take Bobby down once and for all if he so desired.

She shifted in her armchair and shuddered. She was getting ahead of herself. She should just stop thinking and worrying and finish her damn peppermint tea, which had now turned almost icy.


	28. Objectivity

Goren wedged himself into Lewis's white Sedan in the direction of Brooklyn. He knew he had to give back the car to his buddy soon, and check in with him too. But for now Goren needed to stop by his own apartment to pick up a suit for his meeting with Ross. He turned the key in the lock and entered, surveying his living space.

He had stayed at Eames's for five consecutive nights and his own apartment suddenly didn't seem familiar. The dust and mail was piling up. He also had quite a few messages on his machine that he hadn't thought to check, but it was nothing that couldn't wait.

He found himself not wanting to linger in his bedroom because he felt his anger rising whenever he though about Dryden's hidden camera and the trouble it had caused. Realizing his apartment still had no liquids (like shaving foam) or food (coffee), he made internal plans to come back later. Goren dressed quickly, donning a gunmetal gray Ralph Lauren suit and white dress shirt (grateful that at least Ralph made suits Big and Tall) and jumped back in the car.

He aimed the vehicle in the direction of Manhattan and pressed his shiny black shoe down firmly on the gas, his cobalt blue tie still draped loosely around his neck. He made an effort to pin on his badge however, and he wondered morosely if it would be for the last time. He noticed that the day was overcast which didn't seem to bode well. If the weather was warm or cool that morning, he didn't feel it. Robert Goren was trapped completely inside his own head.

Despite being unshaven and having one bloodshot eye, the detective still cut a fine figure as he strode towards Ross's office. Oddly, not one of his colleagues raised their eyes with a 'hello', and the two bald detectives, Jeffries and Andrews, actually appeared to be avoiding his gaze. Wheeler was not about, and Goren was glad. He felt reticent about just how to thank her for the professional and personal favors she had done for him. It would not be as uncomfortable as talking to Liz - but still.

As he approached Ross's door, Goren did not possess one tenth of the confidence he was attempting to project with his suit and his stride. As always, he crossed the threshold into his boss's domain with a sense of trepidation.

His relationship with his curly-haired captain had always been complicated. To be fair, Ross never could have met the bar set by Deakins, but the man hadn't even come close. From the moment they'd met, Goren felt an almost palpable flare of dislike, and recognized from the look in Ross's eyes that the sentiment was more than mutual. It wasn't that he thought Ross was a bad person exactly, they were just born under different stars. The new captain had come in to Major Case with preconceived notions. He'd been like a bloodhound pit-bull cross who had been given Goren's scent in advance, and ordered to attack on sight.

The first case Goren had investigated under Ross's charge had been Eames' abduction. The traumatic events coupled with the Gages' astounding involvement meant that Goren had not been at his clear-headed best. He had missed the early signals from Jo, and had been sent into a tailspin in his subsequent search for Eames. Ross witnessed how badly Goren had handled the situation, and the captain no doubt formed an opinion on his stability that day. After that, things between them seemed to go from bad to atrocious.

But Goren could not deny that although Ross had been glib, condescending, and even downright disdainful at times, he had also shown backbone on more than one occasion. Not only had he not fired him when he might have deserved it, Ross also stuck out his professional neck for Goren in the aftermath of Tates, and fought for him to be reinstated after his successful undercover operation. But the captain always seemed to lose any ground he'd gained with Goren before the dust ever had a chance to settle...like that time that Ross had him investigated for Frank's murder behind his back. Yes, their relationship was certainly complex.

Throughout the Dryden case, Goren's regard for Ross had steadily risen. There was no doubt that Ross had acted quickly to ensure Eames was safe and protected in hospital, and he had demonstrated a determination to protect Eames, and Goren too, from any humiliation stemming from the sex tape.

Still, Goren was tense. Ross knew that he and Eames had recently become involved, and the captain would now have to make a decision on whether or not he was going to ignore it. Goren was also aware that Ross was not a little pissed that Eames had gone after June Fletcher alone, and gotten Mike Logan involved to boot. Although Eames was cleared for her actions by IAB, the event likely did not leave a strong impression of Ross's leadership with those upstairs. Despite the general dislike he had for the man, Goren did not wish to see the Captain suffer any fallout.

Goren knocked and entered, and met with the bright blue eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of his fate. There was a range of expressions on his boss's face. He did not stand up nor offer his hand to Goren.

"Take a seat detective." Ross gestured to the swivel chair opposite his desk.

Goren would have preferred to have remained standing, but he did as he was bidden, feeling the absence of Eames' in the room. "Why am I here captain?" asked Goren.

Ross was never one to appreciate preamble anyway. "There are a number of issues we need to discuss detective."

Goren spied the folders and files on Ross's desk. Dryden's autopsy report was on top and he had clearly been examining close-ups of Dryden's autopsy photos "Why are you reviewing that," asked Goren, nodding his head towards the manila folder.

"A copy was requested upstairs," answered Ross.

"Moran?" asked Goren.

"Not directly. It seems someone's taking an interest though"

"Why? Are they reviewing the cause of death?"

"No – it was definitely a murder," stated Ross.

"Then why the review?" asked Goren. The concern in his voice amplifying.

Ross didn't beat around the bush. "They're checking the consistencies of your statement with his injuries."

Goren reeled. "What? Why? Yes, I punched him on the nose, but I deliberately held back my full force. There was no nasal fracture present; I read the report." Goren sighed. "I just, I just wanted to stun him to find out what he knew. It was one hit captain - just one."

"Well that's what someone's trying to confirm – whether it was just one."

"You can't be serious! I volunteered that statement. I could have said nothing and nobody would have known." Goren voice was initially outraged, but slowly dissolved into defeat.

"I believe you detective, but look at him." Ross handed over an autopsy photo of Dryden's face. The young man was covered with bruises and cuts of varying ages and degrees of seriousness, but all were recent.

Goren examined the facial injuries. "He was being abused in there captain. He had his teeth yanked out for God's sake. These marks were present before I ever walked into Rikers."

"I know, and I'm sure the prisoner from the same block – Lawless – would testify to that."

"Testify? There's going to be a hearing?" Goren swiveled his chair from side to side before pushing it back on its wheels with his feet. He maintained his grip on the photo.

"It's doubtful Goren, but I can't rule it out either. I've tried to handle it internally but this case has been so high-profile what with the FBI and IAB involved and the attempts on you and your partner's lives. We're all under scrutiny here. With Fletcher being murdered, it brings the body count to this case to…"

"Five" finished Goren. He counted the deaths in order on his fingers, "Gatehouse, Moses, Dryden, Craven, and Fletcher."

"We're just lucky it wasn't seven," added Ross sincerely. Both Goren Eames had been poisoned and hospitalized thanks to Dryden's deranged obsession.

Goren breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered that Eames was OK; he could maybe _possibly_ cope with another hearing if it came to it, as long as she was OK.

Ross picked up on his agitation and tried to reassure him. "What's in you favor is that you volunteered the statement, and that no eye-witness can refute your version of events. Sure, you shouldn't have gone to Rikers to see Dryden after you found that camera, but since I hadn't officially taken you off the case... Well, I have the feeling that it probably won't be delved into much more deeply, Nichols and Wheeler have done a great job with the reports."

Goren nodded, already thinking of ways to handle the worse case scenario. "So if someone has it out for me and insists on a hearing, Lawless could submit a statement that this," he held up the photo of Dryden, "...was inflicted by Craven. And maybe Rodgers could testify that these injuries could not have be caused by me."

Ross sighed. "Well detective, therein lies the rub." Ross pressed his two index fingers and thumbs together and pointed them in Goren's direction.

"What do you mean?"

"Rodgers' potential testimony," Ross said in a monotone voice.

"What about it?" Goren was blindsided. Had she changed her opinion?

"It was recently hinted to me by a 'friend' upstairs that Elizabeth's words could be perceived as biased."

"Biased, why?" asked Goren, fearing the answer.

"Because of her relationship with me," admitted Ross.

"What's that got to do with anything?" demanded Goren.

The captain sighed once more. "I've backed you over the years Goren. I don't think you realize quite the full extent of it. Moran and company think I cover your ass because you make my statistics look good."

Goren didn't comment, but his leg started to bounce up and down. He didn't know what to say to that. "And?"

Ross continued in a strangely neutral fashion. "And that it could be perceived that I could influence Rodgers into forming an opinion that backs my own agenda. Consequently, a second opinion on the autopsy has been requested. Dryden's body has already been cremated, but another ME is going to take look at the evidence collected so that two opinions are in the mix. They say it's just to be on the safe side," he added dubiously.

Goren knew that Ross wasn't disclosing the full story or specific names. Someone higher up had obviously embarrassed the Captain on a personal level and questioned his, and Rodgers', ability to be objective. It was insulting to all parties concerned. He'd seen how Deakins had been almost forced out by NYPD politics. It was all a game. "Captain I never meant for it to affect you and Rodgers, if I'd known, I..." Goren stopped. He felt contrite, but he couldn't lie.

"Would you have done anything differently?" asked Ross.

Goren considered the question before shaking his head. Provoking Dryden in that way had led the prisoner to utter his cryptic 'pink and white flowers' comment. Deciphering what that meant had saved Eames' life and got her to the hospital on time. "Moran still wants my head on a platter, doesn't he? And he'll go through you and Rodgers to do it if he has to."

"I'm not sure about that Goren. I don't know precisely what's going on up there. He's in a foul mood and you are a visible target he can lash out at. He needs to be seen making an effort at cleaning up the department."

"And_ I'm_ the dirt?" Goren leaned back in his chair and almost laughed when he recalled Moran's conduct in regards to Patrick Copa. The Chief of Detectives had shown he'd back a dirty cop over a clean one if it suited him.

Ross lowered his voice. "The heat might be on you and me for now, but I have it on good authority that the situation could change at any moment. There are rumors that some... evidence of a sensitive nature has been unearthed. I'm guessing it's something that was found in Fletcher's apartment that involves either Moran himself or one of his close cohorts. With the gag order placed on the case, I can't find out precisely what it is. Maybe Kenneth Moran neglected to do his spring cleaning over the years, and he's trying to make up for lost time." Ross looked smugly satisfied. "I can only speculate mind you, and I ask you to please keep this between us."

Goren nodded swirling the new information around in his mind. "So when is my hearing gonna be?"

"Like I said, it may not get that far. But you should contact your rep just in case. I'm not a betting man Goren, but if I was, I'd put my money on you for this one. I don't think you should worry yourself too much. I just wanted to give you a heads-up in the event of a worse case scenario."

Goren didn't buy the optimism. He was just so sick and tired of the politics. They wouldn't just allow him to do his job no matter what his stats were. This is precisely what had made him so listless and indifferent. He was more than aware that he'd lost his passion and purpose over the past year or two, and sometimes questioned why he fought to stay on. Goren raked his palms through his hair, and finally put Dryden's photo down. He'd been through a hearing before and it had cost him almost six months without pay, and he'd been lucky they hadn't gone after his pension. It had almost cost him Eames as a partner too.

"Eames," stated Goren suddenly.

Ross was used to his sudden changes in topic. "What about Eames?"

"She's in the clear with all this?" Bobby was concerned.

"Yes she's in the clear and from IAB no less. And you're fine to get back to work too. You're not on suspension Goren, nor are you being forced to take leave - either paid or unpaid. In fact, you can both come back on Monday on one condition."

_And therein lies the rub_, thought Goren. He glanced at Ross. "What condition?" he asked.

Ross handed over a large paper handbook to Goren. "That you read this over and answer one question for me."

To Goren, that sounded like two conditions. He picked up the handbook and opened it to the section Ross had bookmarked with a post-it. It was _'The Supervisor's Guide to the Anti-fraternization Policy'._

Ross did not wait for Goren to object. "As far as I'm concerned, who my detectives see after hours is their own business. But as you can see with my situation with Rodgers, it can seep in to the workplace all too easily., and with serious consequences."

Goren responded a little too quickly and curtly. "You think I don't know that captain? You think I haven't read this a thousand times! I understand why personal relationships between partners are off limits. I get that our actions and objectivity could be questioned in the courtroom. And that's why it didn't ever happen for the last ten years. I don't need to read this. I know it by heart." Goren closed the handbook, but continued to hold it in a death grip.

Goren's voice was laced with a defensive tone as he quoted from it.

"Let's see, what's first? '_problems occurring at home could transition to the work place and vice-versa',_ am I quoting correctly?" Goren didn't wait for a response. "What else? '_Such relationships could lead to a lapse in attention in life-threatening situations, potentially undermining public safety.'"  
><em>

Goren held the handbook and slapped the cover with one hand. "And my favorite quote '_sexual or marital relationships generate intense emotions, which may interfere with an employee's job performance and the cohesiveness of the partnership or the squad as a whole.'_"

Goren realized his voice had gotten louder, and that he was halfway out of his chair. He tried to compose himself and maintain an appearance of calm in front of Ross.

Ross put his hand up to stop him. "OK Goren. I get it. You're familiar with the policy. I gather you have strong feelings regarding whether or not it's credible enough to apply to you and your partner. But let me tell you from personal experience, volatility hits some relationships more than others."

Goren wanted to refute the policy vehemently, but he didn't completely lack self-awareness. The truth is it could apply to them. His emotions were already intense when it came to Eames, but all police partnerships were like that, weren't they? He had always loved her regardless. With their new-found willingness to talk out their problems, he hoped that much of the tension between would now have an verbal outlet. Maybe they could avoid some of the professional issues they'd had when their communication was lacking. It could even be better between them - at least he hoped so.

Goren spoke quietly. "You're going to split us up aren't you?"

"Goren for someone who's somehow able to empathize with the worst criminals society has produced, you could at least _try_ to understand where I'm coming from here."

Ross had a point. Goren did not often put himself in his captain's shoes. Did anyone really empathize with their workplace superiors? Goren stared at the manual, his defiance waning. The point of being part of the squad at all eluded him if he couldn't work with Eames.

Goren didn't look up as he took a breath and spoke softly. "I understand the difficult position you're in Captain. You have to consider the integrity of the squad above all else. You've witnessed me flailing when cases get personal, and you think I'm not going to be able to work with her now because her just being there will make every case personal." He returned his gaze to Ross. "Don't sweat it captain. I'll make it easy on you and offer my papers right now."

Ross couldn't help himself; he rolled his eyes at what he perceived to be Goren's burning martyr routine. "Detective, believe it or not, I want you on my squad. We may not always see eye-to-eye but you and Eames are among the best in the entire department, and you know it. The higher ups might complain about you, but who is it they demand when it really counts?"

Ross paused to let his words sink in. "I already told you that you and Eames could come back to work on Monday. You can work a case or two and report back to me on how it's going. Naturally, I expect you to keep your workplace interactions professional and to be discreet. If anyone gets wind of the relationship, you know it will more likely be Eames who gets a mark in her jacket, and I won't be able to prevent it."

Goren knew this was true. Eames was senior partner and although the distinction of rank between them was only minimal, it was still there. She would be perceived to be in the position of power, and as ridiculous as it sounded, it could be construed as being in the realm of sexual harassment if the relationship were to end. Still, Goren heard the good part of Ross's rant too. "So you're not going to split us up?" He sounded hopeful.

"I didn't say that detective. I do take that policy seriously, and I think it was written for a very good reason." He paused and decided to tell Goren what he'd had in mind. "Look, with Wheeler leaving after the baby, I've been given approval for a new hire. He's already been interviewed and selected, and is due to start in three weeks. I plan to rotate him among you, Eames, Wheeler and Nichols to see which combinations work best."

"You're thinking of partnering me with Nichols?" Nichols was senior, and Goren was junior. It made sense in that way.

Ross cracked a genuine smile for the first time since Goren had delivered his large presence into his office. "I told you Goren, I'm not a betting man. That would be a risk not even a Vegas captain would take."

Goren wasn't insulted. Nichols was a good detective with finely honed instincts, but the two of them were too similar to balance each other. Even now Nichols was doing what Goren desperately wanted to do – provoke an investigation into the abuse in Dryden's block at Rikers.

Goren sought clarification. "So Nichols with Eames and me with the new guy?" He did not like that idea either. - not Eames with Nichols! He almost felt a possessive adolescent jealousy. "Who would be senior partner?" He was referring to Eames and Nichols, not himself and the new guy.

"Goren, just allow me little time to figure out which combinations will be effective. The senior/junior distinction is at the discretion of the mayor's office. Honestly, although the difference is minimal, it would be a whole lot easier if you and Eames were of exactly the same rank. You're both first grade, but it would help if neither of you were subordinate to the other as far as the fraternization rules are concerned."

"You'd give her a demotion?" He was stunned.

"No, I'd try to get you a promotion."

Goren shook his head ruefully. "You know the mayor's office loves me about as much as Moran does." Goren knew he'd never get a minor promotion to senior partner even though it attracted no increase in pay - not after his Tates operation. That unauthorized turn of events had gotten him a suspension, and had earned Eames a mark in her jacket. Even Ross had gotten a slap on the wrist. As per usual, it was the personal cases that always ended up in dire straights.

He looked at Ross. Brown eyes met blue with equal intensity. "I won't have her career affected by this," Goren declared.

Ross nodded. "But you know that it would be affected if the two of you were ever found out. She could be a sergeant, lieutenant or even captain someday soon. But in the eyes of the department, it's considered a professional conflict of interest. If this relationship is to continue, it will have to be an airtight secret. Can you both sustain that?"

Goren had considered this. As a highly respected female detective in arguably the most elite squad, Eames had a lot more to lose than he did. Women did not have an easy time of it, and she'd fought so many years to earn the respect of everyone she came into contact with. Messing with your partner was a fast and furious way to lose credibility.

Goren was in a quandary here. He had to at least consider Ross's proposal of a partnership shake-up."Who's the new guy anyway?"

"It's someone you know. I think he could be a good match for either you, Eames or maybe even Nichols. You remember Detective Daniels."

"Daniels?" Goren felt a further flash of jealousy. He didn't like the thought of Eames working with Daniels or Nichols. Eames was _his _partner and his alone.

But he had to stay rational. "He's a good choice." Goren begrudgingly admitted. Daniels was an effective and honest detective with a solid reputation, and Goren had appreciated working with him on the Joe Dutton case . Even Logan and Wheeler had given him kudos, not to mention the way that Eames had raved about his stellar stint as her temporary partner on the tourist murders. Goren had been jealous of Daniels then too, and felt that Eames might be rubbing it in his face to hurt him. Their partnership had been dangerously brittle back then, and how he had fought to win her back. He couldn't lose her again!

Ross interrupted his thoughts. "Could Daniels be a choice you could work with if it came down to it?" .

He wasn't ready to agree to let go of his partnership. He wasn't sure if he would ever be ready. Couldn't it just go on forever?

"I don't know Captain. Why don't we just see if I get to keep my job first?"

Ross got glib then, as was his nature. "I'm sure you will, and I'm equally sure that you'll welcome Daniels into the squad and show him the ropes no matter who he ends up being partnered with."

Goren nodded gruffly in agreement. There was the condescending Ross he knew so well. There was a prolonged silence as Goren tapped his foot thinking it over. Then his expression changed. "Captain, you said Eames and I could come back on Monday on the condition that I answered your question, what is it?"

Ross sat forward in his chair, his shoulders tense. "I was wondering when we'd get to that. It's the reason I brought you here today if you want to know the truth," he stated soberly.

"OK," said Goren tentatively. Ross was as serious as he'd ever looked, and he always looked serious. Goren started to worry.

"I know this is hypothetical detective, but I need you to answer this before I send you two back out there. I'm not questioning your integrity, but you'd have to agree that your first obligation is always public safety, your second responsibility is your partner's safety and your third is yourself."

Goren had been in the army as well as the NYPD. He understood. "Agreed. So what's the question?"

Ross looked him in the eye. "I want a candid answer here Goren. If she were under serious threat, who would you protect first – a member of the public or Eames?"

His question struck Goren like a heavyweight blow, and he was down for the count. He knew well and good how he should respond. It was what any ethical police office would say – the public came first – always and without question.

But it was almost certain that any man or woman, even a police officer or soldier, would on pure instinct choose to protect his or her own family over an unknown member of the public.

Eames was his family now; but he'd always loved her. Had anything in their relationship really changed ? He couldn't deny to himself that it had. The incredible turn of events of the past few weeks meant that she was more precious to him that ever. And he loved her more fiercely than he thought possible.

And unlike those hypothetical police officers and their families, Goren's only loved one would be beside him every day in unpredictable situations that could turn at any moment. Neither of them had ever put a foot wrong in the past, but now?

He knew it was indeed a hypothetical question, and he strongly resented his captain for posing it. He wanted to berate him and convince him that he'd have enough presence of mind to save both Eames and some random member of the public. But this was the New York City Police Department, and split second life-or-death decisions were a requirement of the job. He didn't doubt his courage, but was it ethical to risk testing out his objectivity?

Goren could not answer Ross's question honestly just yet – so he didn't try to.

In a quick and decisive move out of the swivel chair, Goren quickly made his way towards Ross's office door, turning his back on his Captain. He opened it and just before exiting, Goren turned his neck slightly to one side as though checking a vehicular blind spot. He muttered his response to Ross over one shoulder. "You'll have my answer by Monday."


	29. Diner

**DINER**

Goren drove back to Forest Hills in a dark mood. He found himself pondering bleak thoughts that were in stark contrast with how happy he'd been for the past five days. He'd been living almost solely on endorphins, and now he felt his system about to crash.

So preoccupied was Bobby, that he almost missed his turn-off and his sharp jerk to the right almost provoked a crash of the vehicular kind. Shaken, he pulled over immediately in to the first parking spot he saw, even though he still had eight or so blocks to his destination.

The walk did him good, and enabled him to use up some his negative energy. He almost bought a bouquet of flowers on the way, but worried it would not be appropriate given Alex's recent near-fatal poisoning from bees that fed on azaleas, oleanders, and rhododendrons. Besides, he had another present in mind for her in the coming weeks – a much more expensive one.

_The Forest Fire Diner_ was an oddly named, but otherwise run-of-the- mill establishment. Its main advantage was its close proximity to Eames' place. It was just past midday, but there were only a handful of customers sitting at the red and white booths. Only one customer made his heart skip a beat, and she was wearing dark green, which made her appear all Christmas elf-like when contrasted with the red décor.

As Bobby approached Alex, the latter attempted to engross herself in the menu, but he could see from her cheeky expression that she was aware of his presence. He stooped down and kissed her on the cheek. Her eyebrows rose in mock surprise, and she placed the menu back down on the table and smiled at him. Her coy act caused him to stoop down again for a second attempt, but this time she surprised him by capturing his scruffy head in her hands and pulling his lips firmly towards hers. It was only a light, G-rated kiss, but it caused an almost crippling sensation of arousal in him.

To keep himself out of danger of some serious PDA, he withdrew from her magic peck and busied himself by placing his binder on the table, removing his dark gray suit coat, and loosening his tie. He then eased himself into the other side of the booth facing her.

"Hi handsome," she greeted brightly. "I didn't realize you were bringing Melissa." She glanced at his brown leather binder, which had recently been christened as such.

Her wisecrack penetrated his dark mood, and he found himself smiling as he pushed 'Melissa' to the far left and out of the way.

"So how'd it go?" she asked. She was more serious now.

He rubbed his uptight forehead. "I don't know. I'm not fired anyway." He picked up the menu in an attempt to slow the conversation down.

"You were never going to be fired Bobby," she said with a touch of reassurance.

A young waitress interrupted them, waiting to take their order. He was surprised to find his stomach rumbling.

The reason for this sensation was that Eames had been rationing his morning meal to one strip of lean bacon and only one egg. The first morning the egg had been fried, but on subsequent days it was poached. She'd attempted to substitute the missing animal-based sustenance with cooked spinach and had replaced his favored salt with fresh lemon juice. He was kind of afraid of losing the yolk at some point or finding his coffee bereft of caffeine. But still, when someone makes an effort to cook for you – you don't complain.

He'd drawn the line at yogurt and granola however; he couldn't face a bowl of _that_ in the morning no matter how good a mood the amorous activities of the previous night had left him in. With the pretty much constant sex, his body was burning more calories than he was taking in. Was that her master plan? If so, it was the best damn regimen he'd ever tried.

Eames ordered a chicken salad from the menu, likely in an effort to set a good example for him. She looked content with his choice of a turkey salad whole-wheat sub -no mayonnaise.

"And water for the table," she requested. She would not give him a chance to order a soda.

As they waited for the meals, Bobby was silent and stared out the window at the passing pedestrians. The day was still overcast. "You think it'll rain?" he asked her.

She didn't answer. She figured he'd talk about the meeting with Ross when he was ready, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try to help him along by initiating a topic that he wanted to discuss even less – his general health.

"Have you got a spare antihistamine kit for my apartment?" she asked. He had developed a delayed reaction to liquid bee venom when Dryden poisoned him. Unlike Professor Moses, Bobby had survived. But a subsequent small bee-sting had sent him into anaphylactic shock.

"There's one in Lewis's car – not that we're likely to find bees in your apartment," he teased.

She nodded gravely. "Well you can't be too careful. And Bobby, have you called the specialist for another appointment yet?"

When Bobby was hospitalized after being poisoned, he'd received a number of alarming health test results including elevated blood pressure, blood sugar and cholesterol. Dr Sanjay had warned him of a range of health problems that feasibly awaited him in the near future, and had referred Bobby to a specialist for further tests, including a stress test, and a lifestyle consultation to address his nutritional deficiencies.

Bobby had intended to go to the specialist on the very morning that he found the hidden camera in his room. Obviously, he went to confront Dryden at Rikers instead of attending the appointment. Bobby had been making excuses since then not to go, though deep down he knew he had to. To be fair, a lot had happened in that time. "Not yet," he muttered. "I'll call tomorrow, OK."

She frowned. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Are they open Saturday? You should call today to be on the safe side. Is the referral in your wallet or at your apartment?" she asked.

The water arrived at the table; Alex poured Bobby a huge glass. "Drink!" she commanded.

He got irritated. "Eames, I'm not some sick house plant; I'm a grown man."

"Yeah, and I want you to keep growing - into an old man."

Defeated by her reasoning, he took a drink of water. "OK, OK, I'll call today. But don't you wanna know what happened with Ross?"

She smiled like an assassin, and he returned it, realizing he'd been manipulated into changing the topic of conversation. She'd learned from the master.

The waitress placed the nutritious but mundane food on the table.

He sighed with resignation, and gave her an abbreviated and downplayed version of what went down with Ross while they ate.

As she listened, she didn't interrupt, knowing that it was the quickest way to get all the facts. He could see that she struggled to withhold her outrage at the possibility of his having to face another hearing, and she looked especially irate when he recounted how the integrity of Rodgers' work on the autopsy report had been challenged.

Stunned would best describe her countenance when he told her about the rumors regarding either Moran or someone in his inner circle possibly being involved with June Fletcher. Although Ross had told him to keep that tidbit 'between us', his Captain had to know he wouldn't withhold it from Eames. Bobby also told his partner about Detective Daniels' imminent transfer into Major case, and the possibility of varying partnership combinations in the near future. Eames didn't freak out.

Bobby then told her something that had been weighing on his mind. "So Ross said I could come back on Monday as your partner, but only if I answered one question."

"What was it?" she asked, the concern in her eyes apparent.

Bobby exhaled. "He..he wanted to know if our relationship could affect my actions in a life-threatening situation. He wondered if my instinct to protect you could ever be of detriment to the public."

"What? What did you say?" she demanded, clearly insulted by Ross's suggestion.

He cast his gaze to his half-eaten sandwich. "I couldn't answer Eames."

She was passionate in her response. "What do you mean you couldn't answer? When have you ever put public safety at risk? "Your own safety maybe," she scolded, "but never the public."

He shrugged and refused to meet her inquiring gaze. "Things – they've changed now Eames. I would be lying if I said I wouldn't choose to protect you over anyone." He flicked his eyes up once, and shot over a loving look reserved only for her.

She caught it and defrosted a little inside. She reached over to his side of the table and place one hand gently over his warm one. She felt his heat connect to her system. "Yeah things have changed, but you haven't. I know you better than anyone, and if I thought your judgment was off, I'd tell you. I've told you in the past, haven't I?"

He nodded, trying not to think about Croydon or Gage or Wallace when she'd had to do just that.

"OK then," she said, removing her hand. Her tone was matter-of-fact. "So you'll just tell Ross that you won't have a problem making on-the-job decisions. We'll work a few cases together, and if an issue arises, we'll discuss it. If it turns out that the personal stuff starts interfering with what we do, we'll let Ross know. But I think you're jumping the gun with these assumptions that something's going to go wrong Bobby."

Her assessment was a little too straightforward for him. He hesitated to tell her what was really weighing on his mind.

She read his face. "What? You don't agree?"

There was a drawn-out pause before he spoke. "I don't know Eames. I've done some things during this case that I'm not proud of," he confessed.

"OK", she accepted, "So have I. But this case was an anomaly. Nothing like this is going to happen again."

He didn't believe her. "How do you know that? We've had worse cases than this." He didn't have to name them. They both remembered them well enough, even when they tried not to.

She returned her hand so it was once again resting on his, her voice gentler. "Yeah we have, but we got through them Bobby. And we learned from our mistakes, didn't we?"

He didn't withdraw his hand as he cast her an unyielding gaze. "What did you learn from this one?" he asked seriously.

"That I should have talked to you. I should have told you the moment I recognized William's body. You would have helped me. If I could do everything over, I wouldn't make that mistake a second time." Her eyes and voice were certain.

He scratched behind his ear. "Well that's just it Eames. If I could do everything over, I wouldn't do a damn thing differently." He looked at her unflinchingly. "Not a thing. And that's what worries me." He had always endeavored to do the right thing on the job, but not this time.

"Explain it to me Bobby." She understood that it was better not to refute everything he said, or he'd never get anything off his chest.

He released his hand in order to rub the back of his neck, and he undid the top second button of his dress shirt, clearly flustered. His fingers and palms then started to express his frustration. "Where do I start? I burnt the diary pages; I deleted files from an open case; I entered a crime scene that was still being processed, and stole evidence right in front of Castillo. I used his trust in me to deceive him if you want to know the truth of it."

She paused. "Alright, you did. But it was your personal property Bobby," she said weakly. He hadn't told her the details of this before, and she could see now that it had been eating at him.

He continued to admonish himself. "I knew it was evidence left by Dryden, but I smuggled it out of there right under Castillo's nose Eames, and I never told Ross, or anyone else, precisely how or when I got that book and those letters. And I also lied in my written reports and my verbal statements to Nichols and Wheeler, and they knew it." He was reluctant to bring up the sex-tape fiasco in case it upset Alex.

She defended his actions. "You didn't lie Bobby; you omitted a few unimportant details that wouldn't have affected the case."

"That wasn't for me to decide Eames!"

So you did it for me - to cover my secrets, right? Is that such a mortal sin? God Bobby, if I'd just talked to you about my past, you wouldn't have been in that position. Next time it'll be different, I'll…"

"Don't you try to take this on Eames! These were _my_ choices, all of them. I dishonored the badge, and if I could go back in time, I'd do it again," he declared.

She shook her head. He was becoming too agitated. "You're being too hard on yourself Bobby. Don't let a few mistakes be a reflection of who you are as a cop. You've been on the force for more than twenty years! This was a one-off situation."

He took a few breaths and his anger suddenly dissolved into resignation. "Yeah well, twenty years are as far as I'm going to get. Moran wants to push me out, and sooner or later, he'll succeed."

"So don't let him have that power over you Bobby!" You can quit and take the job with Logan or you can fight Moran, and Ross and I will back you up. It's your life here. You're not powerless; you have options. Choose one."

He hesitated for several seconds, afraid to ask his next question. He bit the bullet. "Would you back me up if I decided I wanted to quit?" he asked.

Although she felt a wave of pain and panic, she didn't hesitate to answer. "Of course I would. Would you back me if I decided to take the job with Carver?" She tried to make him see that they'd support each other no matter what.

"Yeah I would, but you're not going take it, right?" Bobby asked with interest.

"No, I'm not," she confirmed.

He looked at a loss as he picked at a rogue piece of lettuce on his plate. "What option do you _want_ me to choose?" he asked desperately.

She wasn't a selfish woman, and only ever wanted what was best for him. "You can't make a decision like this based on my wishes or Ross's or because of Moran's threats. It has to be your choice Bobby. What do you want? The only thing I ask is that you take care of the man I love." She sighed. " I hate seeing you all worked up like this; I can see your red eye throbbing, and it scares the hell out of me."

He rubbed his eye viciously. "I just don't know what I want Eames." He took her in with his eyes and qualified his statement. "Besides you I mean."

The dark stare he gave caused her to shiver. "You have me Bobby. I'm right here." She could see that he was worried that if he quit being her partner, he'd lose her altogether.

He smiled gently in a way that only Bobby could do. "Yeah, I can see that, and I hope…" He stopped, unused to expressing the hidden parts of his heart.

"What?" she urged.

He swallowed some air. "I hope to have you in my life for a long time to come. Forever if I'm going to be honest here." He eyes were unfocussed and dream-like.

"Forever?" She melted.

"If you'll have me," he said. He looked down coyly and then lifted his eyes to meet hers. He almost seemed to be begging for love.

How could she resist? "C'mere Bobby." She patted the space beside her. He got up and moved to her side of the booth. Before he could even settle, she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'll have you forever," she whispered into his ear, and she pressed her lips to the lid that shielded his sore eye..

In bodily reaction, he embraced her with his strong arms and brought down his lips softly on hers. Their kisses soon became open mouthed and wet, and their breath quickened. His emotions were heightened, and there may have even been tears shed, but he was fairly convinced they were hers.

A cough rudely interrupted them. "I hate to interrupt you folks, but seeing as you're so hungry, would you like to order anything else?" asked the sarcastic young waitress.

They broke apart. "Coffee," said Eames with confidence. Bobby looked sheepish as the waitress nodded and walked away.

Eames composed herself first. She was ready to handle the predicament Bobby was in. "So now you know you're not going to lose me, let's weigh up your options. She tugged the binder towards them and zipped it open, pulling out a pen and a fresh sheet of paper. She drew a straight line down the middle of the paper and wrote REASONS TO STAY on the left and REASONS TO LEAVE on the right, and gave Bobby ten minutes to fill the page. Then the two detectives proceeded to discuss and debate the list over many cups of coffee. It was just like working a case.

**REASON TO LEAVE # 1 **

**TIRED**

Bobby told her a little about his battle with depression over the years. Although it hadn't escaped her notice, she hadn't known about his attempt to take medication to treat it.

He was frank about it. "The side-effects were just too much. The meds either stopped me from thinking clearly, or they didn't work at all. I couldn't be on the job _and_ on the pills, so I stopped taking them," he confessed.

"I wish I could have helped you Bobby," she hated that he always chose to struggle through things alone. She also hated that she was exactly the same. She had probably needed treatment for depression at one or two periods in her life.

He protested gently."You did help. Just by being there, you helped. You're helping now.' He gave her a peck on the top of the head. Bobby Goren was only just starting to emerge from the fog that surrounded him, but it would be a while yet before he was back to his old self. His brain chemistry might be temporarily on a high because he was in love and getting regular sex, but he understood that his serotonin stores were still mood-threateningly low.

He tried to accurately express how his dullness of mind, body, and spirit had affected him on-the-job. "It's like I've just been going through the motions, and I don't really give a damn. I'll solve the cases, but I don't want to truly understand them."

She had a strong urge to refute his assessment of his abilities, but she knew that it was vital for him to give a voice to what he was feeling, so she kept silent.

He kept talking. "I'm so scared I'll screw up and get fired, that I don't allow myself to commit. It's like I've lost my instinct, and in its place is just…apathy."

With an understanding that she was witnessing a rare event seeing him so open, she dared not interfere by invalidating what he was saying. Although she wanted to bolster him, she couldn't deny that there was some truth to his self-reflection.

She had observed him on a recent case of a man who had murdered his estranged brother. As boys, the two brothers were raised by a schizophrenic mother, the experience of which had affected the suspect deeply.

Strangely, Bobby had kept the case at arms' length, despite the similarities with his own childhood. Eames figured it probably wasn't a bad thing that Goren had pulled back a little to protect himself, but it wasn't like the Goren of old. He'd solved the case of course, he'd gotten into the guy's head and elicited a confession. But Bobby had seemed strangely detached throughout. Maybe he just couldn't take it all on anymore. Maybe it was better not to let everything get so personal.

He kept talking, his eyes unfocussed. "Sometimes artists Eames, they produce and produce and produce until their creativity is burnt out. I feel like my well has run dry, and that I've got _nothing_ more to give." He shook his head. He felt guilty in case she thought that working with her wasn't enough. He sighed. "Maybe I just need a break to get my juices flowing again."

Eames considered his words. "I can't say I haven't noticed that you don't seem to have the same passion for the work lately, but you haven't lost you brilliance Bobby. I watch you every day, so I know."

He shrugged off her compliment. He was too far deep in his mind.

She sighed. "Maybe you do just need a vacation – get out of the city. Bobby Goren is allowed to take a vacation you know."

He suddenly seemed to snap out of his reverie. "A vacation?" he said cryptically.

**REASON TO STAY # 1**

**EAMES**

"So I'm number one?" she asked.

He kissed her on the nose. "Always," he confirmed. "You know I can't work without you. And I don't want to."

She played devil's advocate, as she often did to get to the truth. She wanted him to make the decision that would best restore his happiness, health and work/life balance – no matter what that decision was. "I believe the second part Bobby, but not the first. Of course you can work without me. How do you think you made it all the way to First Grade Detective in Major Case? You achieved that before you even met me."

He shook his head at her objections. "I need the job to survive. You know that; you know how I handled my suspension when I couldn't work with you."

She pounced on his objections. "Of course you need to work, and you could do that with Logan. You would be investigating every day, but you wouldn't have the pressure or attention coming from up above. You'll be your own boss."

"Yeah, but who'll rein me in, Logan? They both laughed at that. "I need you by my side, you know that." he added seriously.

"I thought we'd established that I'm not going anywhere."

"I mean on the job. I need you on the job," he insisted.

She pressed on. "Bobby. Didn't you once say that to successfully give up one behavior, you need to replace it with another?"

Bobby nodded, knowing where she was going with this.

"Well you'd just be replacing the NYPD with _Goren and Logan Investigations_," she declared, trying out Logan's proposed new business name.

His brow wrinkled with concern as he looked at her. "I can't replace you."

"You wouldn't have to! I'll be with you every evening. We'll be together. We can discuss my case or your investigation. We'll help each other."

"It's not the same," he protested. "Every evening?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes every evening unless I catch a case– and no, it's not the same," she acknowledged "But that's the whole point, you need a change. Change has been good for us lately, right?"

He nodded, and then pounded a fist gently on the table. "But you're my partner."

She smiled. "OK, so I wouldn't be there every day in a professional capacity, but I'll be there every night in a personal capacity." She leaned towards him and whispered into his ear. "Isn't that a agreeable replacement behavior Bobby?" She wasn't above using her feminine wiles with him – not anymore.

She reached for his cheek, and stroked the thickening stubble with tenderness, reveling in the soft texture. The intimate touch, and her soft words caused him to close his eyes involuntarily so as not to overload his senses. With his long lashes, she had never seen him look so appealingly vulnerable.

"Oh, it's more than agreeable," he admitted in a voice that was deep and husky. He opened his eyes, and she was acutely turned on at how lust-laden they appeared.

He gently pressed his lips on her palm, and then held his hand in hers. She felt his comforting warmth. He spoke softly but seriously. "But Eames, I know the hours you have to work. We'd never see each other." His dark eyes looked pleadingly at hers. He had a few persuasive techniques of his own.

"But _you_ could choose your own hours Bobby, and how much work you wanted to take on. With the city pension and health benefits, the pressure would be off."

He pulled away from her and strummed his fingers on table for at least half a minute, thinking of how to phrase what he wanted to say next. He still found it hard to have such extended conversations with her, but he knew that he had to do it if he wished to keep her – and he _really_ wanted to keep her. He cleared his throat. "I really don't want to leave you Eames, but…" He swallowed.

"But?" she coaxed.

He looked out the window. Not a ray of sun had broken through the clouds all day. "But it might be good for you if I leave. Ross thinks you'll be up for a promotion someday soon."

That got her back up, and it showed in her tone of voice. "You think I'm interested in being one of the brass? You've got to be kidding me! I'm as high as I ever want to go."

He sounded sad. "You used to want more though, didn't you? It's because of me that you've changed." He looked contrite. His leg started to get jittery. "You'd thrive without me Eames. It's not too late for you," he said absently.

She knew he was referring to the comment she'd made after the LeZard case, when the manipulative bitch had informed Eames that her career would be 'tainted' by her association with Goren.

His tone and his self-blame irked her. Also, he was just plain wrong. "I know my own mind Bobby. Don't question that!"

He looked as though he'd been slapped, and she regretted it immediately. She slid her hand to his knee, attempting to soothe the effect of her sharp tone and still his jitters. He didn't respond, and his shoulders remained slouched. He really was a high-maintenance boyfriend.

She persisted, but with gentleness. "You really think I'd thrive without you? Believe me Bobby, the thought of partnering with anybody but you fills me with dread."

He turned his neck to face her. She had his undivided attention once more. She squeezed his still twitching upper thigh to find that it was comfortingly solid. "But I could work with someone else. I could do it Bobby if I had to. You could do it too – Daniels and you... - I know how he operates Bobby. A partnership could work between the two of you."

She paused to consider an even better scenario.

"And who knows? Maybe Ross will see how well we still work with each other, and we won't have to be separated at all. You did say he'd assign us a few cases together before deciding. He obviously doesn't have his heart on splitting us up yet. If you want to keep your job, then I'll help you do that."

His eyes glistened.

**REASON TO LEAVE # 5**

**Sooner or later, something bad's going to happen. **

Eames read the dramatically worded fifth reason with reservation. "Why do you think that? Is it really based on anything concrete?" she asked.

"I've always followed my instincts, you know that."

"Sure," she agreed.

"And they're telling me that something bad is gonna happen."

"What do you mean - the hearing?" She wasn't naïve enough to ignore his gut feeling, but he had a tendency to be clouded by pessimism too.

"Not that – it's out of my hands now. No, it's something else."

'Go on," she coaxed.

"This is hard to talk about Eames." He was hesitant.

"You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know. It's..uh. I just feel that there's something in me – in my basic nature that's going to cross the line one day soon."

She took in his words. "OK, so what do you mean exactly?"

He drew a breath, trying to think how to explain it. "It's uh..it's like that white tiger in Vegas that attacked its trainer, you remember that?"

She nodded as she recalled the story of the magician who was attacked by his tiger. She couldn't recall if it had been Sigfried or Roy. "So you think you're the tiger," she asked..

"Yeah, I'm the tiger. The brass and the mayor like everyone to applaud when I do my tricks, but they know that sooner or later I'm going to spring for the jugular. I'll go too far one day Eames, and they'll shoot me with a tranquilizer dart."

She shook her head and almost laughed at the bizarre analogy. But then she looked up at him. Her eyes were devoid of humor. "Too far how?

"I might yell at the wrong person, hit someone, clear my desk in a fit of temper," he added wryly. "It could be a defense attorney, Moran, Ross, a suspect. I don't know. But I've been so damn angry with them all over these past few years."

She patted his strong arm. "OK, I can see you decking Moran or a defense attorney," she smiled. "And that would be almost be worth losing your job, but a suspect - really?" Her tone was disbelieving.

"I hurt Dryden," he stated. He looked at her as though she couldn't possibly challenge his words.

She attempted to justify it. "He was a double murderer Bobby, and he had every intention of killing me too."

"But I lost my head. He was trying to gain power over me by dragging you into it. I should have recognized that." Bobby shuddered. "I managed to hold back a little when I punched him, but when he mentioned your funeral..."

He stopped. He needed to select the right words to describe what happened within him "It's ...It's like I turned white-hot inside, and I couldn't see. It was only for a moment, but I really wanted to _kill_ him Eames. If Craven hadn't intervened..." His words petered off.

_I would have cracked his head against the wall like an egg_, thought Bobby - but he left it unvoiced.

Eames was troubled. He hadn't told her about this part of the event before. She never knew quite what kind of things went on inside Bobby's head. She turned her face to make him meet her eyes. "Look, I wasn't there, but I know you Bobby, and I'm confident that you don't have it in you to go too far."

"Brady.- that's not what he said," he muttered almost inaudibly.

"Brady?" she said in surprise. He had rarely talked about his biological father, and she knew never to push the issue.

Bobby's form seemed to disappear right there in the diner. She couldn't find him for a moment. Then his words echoed out from somewhere deep and dark. "I started to choke him you know, Brady I mean, I was so angry." He removed his body from hers so they weren't touching.

Eames felt his body shake and shudder just before he moved away, and she sensed would not at that moment welcome physical comfort from her. She spoke slowly and carefully. "OK, but you didn't kill him - even though there was no one in the world who deserved it more. You're nothing like him Bobby." There was an eerie silence. She dared to touch his arm, and he flinched.

He looked down at her briefly, and turned away, staring straight ahead into nothingness. "If someone tried to hurt you, I don't know what I'd be capable of Eames, and that's the truth."

He was alarming her with his intensity. She took a breath and rubbed his arm, trying to get through to him. He was so gentle and kind. How had arrived at this dark and mistaken impression that he was capable of murder? It had to be his lingering depression that was obscuring his ability to judge himself fairly. There was clearly a storm raging inside of him, and it was something she knew she might not be capable of addressing on her own. "OK, then maybe you need to see someone about this concern you have. I'm not saying a department shrink, but someone. You're talking to me about it, and that's good. That's a good thing."

"I can't talk about this anymore right now Eames," he admitted. His voice was starting to waver.

"OK, we'll stop. We'll stop now," she patted him arm.

He nodded in agreement and drifted into an extended silence. He finally glanced at her and started to ramble. "I..I'm going to stay at my apartment tonight Eames – I've got to get this car back to Lewis. I've had it for far too long, and my place is closer to his workshop. I'll give you a ride home first though, but then I'll head off to Brooklyn. I've got to look at my mail, and I need to get some supplies and a few groceries..."

"And to think," she finished. "You need to think tonight," she stated.

"You don't mind?"

"I don't mind, but I'd rather you think at my place if you're asking my preference."

"You're too much of a distraction Eames," he smiled faintly. But his smile faded.

"Will you come back tomorrow night?" she asked, suddenly unsure.

"Of course," he kissed her on the forehead to reassure her.

She felt uneasy. She knew he wasn't OK, but if she pushed him, he might topple over the edge.

She looked up at him and made him look into her eyes. She spoke as firmly as she could manage. "Whatever you decide Bobby, I'll have your back. I just want you to promise me that you'll be excited about your decision. There's no need to make this a traumatic ordeal you know." Her words felt hopelessly inadequate.

"OK Eames." A brief silence fell. " I'll get the check. You ready to go?" he asked, sliding out of the booth.

"Yeah. I guess," she said unconvincingly.

She wanted him to be in her bed tonight. It killed her to think of him alone in his cold apartment, torturing himself with his own thoughts.

"You'll go and see Lewis now?" Maybe a guy friend could help him.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"And you'll call the specialist?"

"Yeah."

And true to his word, as they walked the gray streets of the eight or so blocks to where he'd left the car, he did call and she listened while he made an appointment.

After the call ended, he noticed how sick with worry she looked. "I'm OK Eames, really." He took her hand in his and squeezed it to reassure her.

She longed to believe him.


	30. Voices and Choices

**LEWIS**

It was with a heavy heart that Bobby pulled up in front of Alex's apartment; he could see that she was concerned about his state of mind. He got out of the car, and walked around to the other side to open the door for her. He offered his hand, and she rolled her eyes at his off-the-job chivalry as he guided her out. He then quickly disarmed her visual sarcasm with a soft and loving kiss. When he drew back, he perceived the worry in her eyes.

She ran her fingers from his temple to his chin."I'm just a phone call away, you know that."

He tried to put her at ease. "I'm fine, really. I'll be back in the morning, OK?"

She nodded and stood up on tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You might need this." She handed him his binder, which she had been nursing in her lap while he drove. She then turned and walked away towards her apartment. Bobby had to draw on his reserves of self-restraint not to follow.

He feared that if he walked Eames to her door, he'd just go right on inside with her and become distracted. As appealing as that seemed, he owed it to himself to think things through. She understood that, and had given him space. What Bobby needed was time alone to make a decision about what he wanted from the rest of his life.

But first things first, he'd told her he was going to visit Lewis, and he intended to do so. If he was going to spend time away from her, he'd at least make it productive.

As he closed in on the entrance of the workshop in the old white sedan, it was with a little shame that he realized he hadn't seen Lewis face-to-face in almost eight months. How had he let that happen?

The same apprentice who had dropped off the vehicle at Bobby's apartment waved him straight inside. Bobby got out and threw the young man the keys.

"Thanks," Bobby said. "Where is he?"

The young mechanic flicked his head in the direction of a red and white Ford Gran Torino, which had two human legs sticking out from underneath it.

"Bobby Goren. Where the hell have you been?" came a muffled voice from under the car. A lamp switched off, and out slid Lewis.

Bobby whistled to show he was was impressed with the Torino. He offered Lewis a hand up off the ground. "'75?" Bobby asked.

"You know it," said Lewis.

Bobby eyed the classic car appraisingly. "Yours?"

"I wish," he snorted. "I'd take better care of it than the owner has. But you didn't answer my question - Where the hell have you been Bobby?" A huge grin spread across Lewis's face.

Goren looked contrite. "Sorry 'bout that.. Life got in the way, you know."

Lewis snorted again. "Since when do you have a life?" Lewis moved a little closer appraising his friend's expensive dark gray suit, echoing the whistle that Bobby had afforded the Gran Torino. "Looking sharp Bobby! I'd give you a man hug, but… " Lewis nodded down at his blue mechanic's coveralls, which were stained from neck to toe in grease and oil of varying shades.

Bobby gave him a tap on the shoulder. "Thanks for loaning the car. You saved my ass, and Alex's too."

Lewis's ears pricked up. "Oh so she's _Alex_ now is she?" he said with a cheeky interest. His long-time detective friend had always referred to his partner as 'Eames'. On their last phone call, Lewis had started to suspect that something had changed between the two of them.

Bobby looked embarrassed and rubbed the back of his neck. Lewis recognized his tell straight away.

"C'mon," said Lewis. "You and me are having a beer in the back room."

Lewis led the way and cracked open two bottles of bud from the bar fridge before plonking down on a disgusting looking orange sofa, which had an even dirtier oil stained sheet draped over it for protection. Bobby took the offered beer, but was reluctant to sit down next to his buddy. He instead occupied himself by surveying the posters of leather clad rock chicks that had probably been hanging on the filthy white walls since the mid-eighties.

Lewis suddenly realized what the problem was. "Oh Versace wouldn't approve of the dirty sofa, huh?" Your suit probably cost more than that car you just brought back."

Bobby shrugged; knowing it would be futile to point out he was merely clad in Ralph Lauren. Lewis got up and tossed aside the greasy sheet. He then located a large sheet of plastic, which he proceeded to spread across the sofa. Satisfied, Bobby sank down beside him. "So how's the Mustang?" Goren asked, referring to the car they'd worked on together over the years.

"As sexy as ever," Lewis replied. "You should take her out for a drive sometime. And speaking of sexy, how's _Alex _doing?" Lewis scrutinized Bobby's face as he took a long swig of beer. Although the big man's expression was unreadable, Lewis could tell from Bobby's general gait that his friend had gotten laid – big time. When he'd walked into the back room, he was all upright and cocky and shit, as though he'd just recently made a woman beg and scream out his name. Lewis intended to confirm his suspicions. "So Detective Alex – she's fully recovered?"

"Yeah she's fine," Bobby confirmed. Despite the nervousness at Lewis's line of questioning, he couldn't hide his relief that she was okay.

"Glad to hear it, but she's always been pretty fine, right?" It was no secret that Lewis had always harbored an admiration for 'Detective Alex'. Lewis waited patiently for Bobby to respond to his provocation, but the Versace man remained passive, and took another sip of beer instead.

Frustrated, Lewis tried the direct approach. "So you finally told her, huh?" asked Lewis.

Bobby became engrossed in his own knee. He knew what his friend meant, and saw no reason to deny it. He'd denied it to himself long enough. "Yeah," he replied softly.

"And? What'd she say?" asked Lewis with animation.

"And – yeah," replied Bobby. His two words let his friend know that his feelings had been mutual.

Lewis laughed and slapped him on the back in congratulations, almost spilling both their beers. "So have you slept with her?" He understood he was pushing Bobby Goren's boundaries a bit too far, but he just had to know.

"Yeah," admitted Bobby.

"And?" asked Lewis.

"And –_Yeah_." Bobby's splayed out his legs involuntarily. His sideways nod and tone of voice confirmed that the sex was more than good.

Lewis got worked up. "Ha! I knew it! You lucky son of a bitch! You fortunate fucking _asshole_! Good for you man! It's about time! It's about fucking time you got some serious..."

"OK enough," said Bobby, cutting him off by raising his beer bottle. But on the inside, Bobby felt a secret and absurd sense of masculine pride at his conquest.

"So how long has this been going on?" asked Lewis. He was itching for details.

"Only a week or two," answered Bobby, finding it difficult to contain a small smile at the memories.

Lewis whistled in surprise. "Man I'm so jealous. Don't screw this up Bobby! I mean screw all you want, but don't screw it up," warned Lewis.

"I'm trying not to," said Bobby.

Lewis punched him in the arm in encouragement. "You've just got to relax man. Take her out, buy her presents, and romance the living hell out of her. Treat her like the fine woman she is, and for God's sake take yourselves away from the job once in a while."

"Well that's what I wanted to ask you about," said Bobby.

"What...romance?" asked Lewis, bewildered. The fact that Bobby should 'just do it' was about as far as his expertise went.

"I'm thinking of quitting – the job." Bobby blurted out. He surprised himself with his admission, and he wanted Lewis's reaction.

"Seriously? You're serious?" asked Lewis.

"Yeah I'm serious – you think it's a mistake?" He eyed Lewis, wondering he'd say.

Lewis gave a decisive answer. "Hell no it's not a mistake. As long as you have something else to fill in your time, I think it could be the best decision you've ever made - besides nailing Alex that is," he grinned.

Bobby ignored his crude comment in favor of the other one. "You think it could be a good decision?"

Lewis turned serious and picked at the label of his bottle of Bud. "You forget that I've seen you man. I've watched what that job has done to you over the past few years." Lewis shot him a look, unsure of how much to say. "I know you do good work, but you've sacrificed so much - you really think I haven't noticed?" Lewis looked sideways at him. Bobby had lost family, health, friendships, and hadn't had a girlfriend in years.

Goren avoided his gaze and took another mouthful of beer, but he was listening to Lewis intently.

'It's like you've been walking through a minefield Bobby. You know I'm scared maybe one day I'll just get a phone call from Alex and that'll be it - pfft! - And you'd be nothin' but memories." Lewis looked away, as men do when they dare to convey shit like that.

Silence hung thickly between them.

"Shit Lewis!"

"Yeah, pretty deep I know."

They both polished off their beers. Lewis spoke again. "Look, if you've got a chance to get outta there and try something new - and still keep Alex – then I think you should do it. You're not getting any younger my friend."

Bobby nodded in concession – neither of them was young anymore. "Well this buddy of mine – Logan – he's started this PI agency…"

Bobby filled him in the details and Lewis was ridiculously enthusiastic. "Shit, I'll even hire you Bobby. I can be your first client."

Bobby smiled. "_You? _What do you need investigating?"

"Why in the hell Detective Alex chose your sorry ass when she could have had all of this!" He raised his empty beer bottle grandly around the filthy back room of his workshop.

Bobby laughed pretty deeply. "Well I dunno. She must be crazy."

"You lucky son of a bitch!" repeated Lewis.

They shot the breeze for a while and chugged another beer until Lewis had to go see some customers. He told Bobby he could keep the sedan indefinitely, insisting it wasn't worth a dime. Bobby declined graciously, but conceded that he'd come over and borrow it, or the Mustang, if he needed to.

Goren felt infinitely more hopeful as he said goodbye to his buddy, swearing not to wait eight months before they met up again. He also promised Lewis that he'd gladly pass on a kiss to 'Detective Alex'.

Bobby retrieved his binder and strode off in the direction of the subway stop. Suddenly he heard a loud voice call out to him. "And make it with tongue!"

Bobby shook his head and grinned, giving Lewis a backwards wave.

That request kept Bobby smiling until he got back to his apartment in Brooklyn. He'd picked up some shaving supplies and a few groceries on the way, but not much. He knew he was going to be spending most nights in Forest Hills from now on. He realized that he had forgotten to buy more beer, but decided it was maybe a good thing. An important decision like this necessitated a clear head.

**VOICES**

Goren sat on his lazy boy recliner and opened his binder to revise his pros and cons list. He immediately noticed Alex's handwriting. She'd scrawled the word '_Forever' _at the bottom of the page. Heat and love radiated from his heart in response. When had she written that? He had a sudden urge to call her, but resisted.

He did want 'forever' with her, but how was he going to achieve that when he'd never had a truly successful long-term relationship? The job or his need to care for his mother had always gotten in the way, sapping all his time and energy until there was nothing left for other pursuits. Since she died, his personal life had only become emptier.

Being an NYPD detective was Goren's core identity, but he should never have allowed the job to take possession of his whole world at the expense of everything else. It had happened like that because he simply knew no other way to operate. There was always so much urgency and time pressure to solve, solve, solve. Would he miss that? Would the PI firm offer a challenge? Logan seemed to be more than satisfied with the change of scene. Although he and Logan were very different beasts, they had a lot in common too. They were both a popular target of the brass for one thing - but Logan had gotten out and was now free to investigate how he saw fit. He could also pick and choose his jobs. It didn't sound half bad. Bobby knew he could probably pick up some consultancy or lecturing jobs too - he'd had so many offers over the years.

Quitting the NYPD would no doubt be a huge shake-up in his life, but maybe that was exactly what he needed. His change from the army to the NYPD all those years ago had been a good one ultimately. Maybe it was time for another move.

Bobby paced to his bedroom and shed his suit in favor of a T-shirt and boxers. Before too long, he found his eyes fixating on the framed oil painting which depicted a boat named _The Zephyr_ navigating the stormy sea. A talented schizophrenic artist from Carmel Ridge had painted it especially for Bobby. What was it she'd said? That the boat would probably weather the storm, but if not, the crew would be taken up to heaven. He shuddered. Heaven did not exactly hold pleasant connotations for him after his experience in Tates. He'd sooner have the storm be over, so he could be free to live his life.

Unfortunately, the seas of Major Case were far from calm. He was going probably going to have to undergo yet another hearing, maybe face a further suspension, perhaps have a new partner foisted upon him, and he would have to keep his relationship with Alex secret if they wanted to work on the same squad.

If Moran decided to can his ass at any point, it was possible Goren could lose his city retirement pension and health benefits which he'd only recently qualified for (by the skin of his teeth). If he left now, he'd have a half-salary to live on for the rest of his life and would be free to work in the private sector to make up the shortfall.

_Should I stay or should I go?_

Bobby just wasn't sure precisely what to do with his life. The only certainty was whom he wanted to share it with. He clambered into bed and switched off the lamp and closed his eyes. Unsurprisingly, sleep eluded him. Before long, unbidden voices from weeks gone by started to invade his mind, attempting to instigate a civil war.

At the beginning of the conflict, the voices he really shouldn't heed battled for supremacy.

David Dryden's reedy words weighed in: "_You're no better than me Goren. You're no smarter. Sooner or later they'll kick you out of this department for good."_

And then Fletcher's bitchy tones had their say: "_Major Headcase – that's what they call you Goren -everyone from the ground up!"_

Other voices soon drifted in to be heard.

There was Dr Sanjay's Indian lilt: "_I can see you're an intelligent man Detective. You know that I don't have to tell you that your blood pressure, liver enzymes, nutrient deficiencies and insulin levels are warning signs. They may not be life threatening today, but they will be some day soon."_

And then he heard Mike Logan's casual tone enticing him to get out of Dodge: "_I can't tell you how good it feels to be a free agent. No brass to justify myself to, no need to defend my investigative choices. It's taken my balls month to recover from the vice grip they were in. You'd love it Goren, you know."_

But then there was Liz, wanting him on the job with Eames: "_I rest easy at night knowing that you're always by her side, and would never let her down."_

And even Captain Ross thought he should stay on at Major Case: "_Detective, believe it or not, I want you on my squad. We may not always see eye-to-eye but you and Eames are among the best in the entire department, and you know it. The higher ups might complain about you, but who is it they demand when it really counts?"_

Melissa, the young admin assistant at Brownlow, also thought a cop's job was worthwhile: "_Something bad, real bad, happened to me a few years ago when a college party got out of hand. A cop, a police officer, well he helped me out. I mean really helped me out. He was beyond kind. I guess just appreciate what law enforcers do is all."_

Finally, the voices of his only two true friends rose above the din raging in Goren's crowded skull.

Lewis was urging him to walk away: "_You've sacrificed so much to the job…if you've got a chance to get away and try something new and still keep Alex – then I think you should do it. You're not getting any younger."_

And then there was Alex, who only wanted what was best for him: "_You're not powerless here; you have options. What do you want?…Whatever you decide Bobby, I'll have your back. I just want you to promise me that you'll be excited about your decision."_

Bobby Goren tossed and turned and eventually fell in a fitful sleep. His eyelids started to vibrate as he entered the REM phase, and that's when nightmares started to stalk him.

Dryden's beat up autopsy image came to full-bodied life, opening its cadaverous eyes. Goren found himself in Rikers, gripping the copper-headed zombie-like man roughly by the shoulders of his orange jumpsuit, slamming him hard up against a prison wall once, twice.

Behind his back, Goren could sense Craven and a host of other corrections officers chanting unintelligibly to spur on his fury. Dryden's dead brown eyes and toothless mouth opened as if to speak. Instead of words, a single black and yellow bee flew out, followed by another, and another until there was a swarm flying and buzzing noisily out of his eyes and mouth.

Goren understood even in his dream state that the bees could kill him. He grabbed Dryden by the throat and shook. The young mans face morphed into a blurred vision of Brady, or was it Declan? With one final firm _thwack!_ , Goren struck the buzzing multi-faced head against the prison wall; the bees went silent, and the body went limp and slid jelly-like to the floor.

It wasn't over.

Goren felt an acute and stinging poison in his eyes and ears as the bee venom pumped through his system, headed in the direction of his aorta. "EAMES!", he called out in panic. In the periphery, he could hear the 'beep beep beep' sound of a heart monitor increasing in speed and urgency. "EAMES!",he cried once more

He suddenly found himself in a new location. He was running up the hospital stairs searching desperately for her up-up-up. The stairs were endless and Craven was behind him in pursuit. "EAMES!" Goren's mouth moved, but no sound came out. He couldn't find her. Where was she? The sound of the heart monitor flat-lined 'BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP'

"Eames!" Bobby's eyes opened, and he sat bolt upright in the pitch blackness. He was coated with sweat caused by the adrenaline of his vivid nightmare. He was no stranger to bad dreams, but this was the first one he'd had in a while. He reached blindly for her form in the dark, and found only the empty half of the bed beside him. She wasn't where he most needed her to be. All those nights through his depression and grief, he had needed her so bad. He needed her now.

He threw off the comforter and got out of bed, shedding his white t-shirt.

He entered the bathroom and turned on the light, surveying his reflection in the mirror. Not liking what he saw, he slathered on some foam, picked up a new razor, and started to shave. Although his hands were trembling, he did not stop until his cheeks and chin were smooth. He rinsed the graying hairs down the sink, splashing his face with hot water.

The mirror was steamed up from the heat, but he could still make out his cloudy image in the glass. He took stock of the whites of his eyes. One was blood red, the other healthy.

He felt uneven.

There had always been an imbalance in his nature, and he often wondered if it was a part of his family heredity. Whenever he committed to something important, he did it one hundred percent - no balance. In recent years, the job was all he knew. Except for weekly visits to Carmel Ridge, he'd had no personal or family life to speak of.

Nobody happy to see him when he got home

Nobody he could share his hopes and fears with

Nobody to grow old with

Nobody to love

And she had been right there all along; he was just too afraid to tell her - never dreaming she could feel the same way.

Goren's epiphany had finally come to him just a few weeks ago.

As he rapidly approached his half century on this earth, he found that (by design) he had almost totally isolated himself from humankind. After his poisoning, he'd checked out of hospital to find no one there to greet him or take him home.

He feared that he'd lost her forever, and something from deep within him rose up in defiance and demanded more. Even though he knew that his heart's desire was likely too selfish, too greedy and too fantastical ever to come to pass, he decided to risk letting her know that he loved her. So he had drawn on his courage and confessed his feelings, laying it all on the line. Somehow he'd won her heart. Miracles could happen.

Now he needed to do right by her, and put her first.

Not long ago, he had likened himself to a parasite who was feeding off of her, depriving her of sustenance. Goren's instinct was now informing him that if he attempted to maintain a partnership as well as a relationship with her, that one or the other would rupture under the pressure – just like his eye had imploded. He'd be in her presence 24 hours a day, and he knew his uneven nature. He'd either lean on her far too heavily or push her away completely.

So which would he commit one hundred percent to- his professional life or his personal one? Why was he so afraid leave something behind in order do embrace something new?

He couldn't stand by and hope that their work situation would just magically smooth itself out. It was unrealistic to expect that they could continue their partnership, while keeping their relationship a secret with no negative consequences. It was time to make a deliberate choice whether to prioritize his love for her, or his love of working with her.

He stared at his freshly shaven face. The fog seemed to have suddenly cleared from the mirror, and the answer was abundantly clear.

He refused to be a victim of circumstance any longer.


	31. More

Rated M for steamy sex (as a guest reviewer requested).

* * *

><p><strong>MORE<strong>

Alex woke up to the sound of her beeping cell phone. In a panic she reached for it, fumbling with the buttons. Although she was used to phone calls at unusual hours, she was not her usual cool, calm and collected self. It had been a miracle that she had fallen asleep at all. Lying alone in her bed, she had tossed and turned for many hours worrying about her itinerant partner. It was news to her that she seemed to no longer be able to spend a single night without him.

She clicked on the message - Bobby! She tore her eyes across the tiny screen and read his words.

_Will be at your place in 30 mins._

She stared at the text, noting the current time - 5.36am. Without hesitation, she called his number.

He picked up. "Eames... Alex – did I wake you?"

She ignored his question. "Everything OK?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Yeah, I'm coming over – if...if that's alright."

"Of course it's alright, but why all the urgency, is something wrong?" She couldn't keep the alarm out of her voice.

"Nothing's wrong," he clarified. "I'll be there soon, and I'll explain everything face-to-face."

She was confused. "You're coming over now? How?" She knew he'd given the car back to Lewis.

"A cab's on its way – the driver's a guy I know."

She was relieved he wasn't getting the subway at this hour, as Bobby seemed to have an uncanny ability to attract unwanted attention wherever he went. Still, a cab would be expensive. "Why the rush?" she asked, wanting to know the details right then and there.

"Uh…" he evaded. She could almost see him rubbing the back of his neck.

Her interrogation was thwarted by the sound of a car horn coming from his end of the phone. _The cab,_ she deduced.

"Gotta go Eames, I'll see you soon."

Before she could protest, the call ended. _Why all the mystery?_ Despite his reassurances that he was OK, she was anxious. Bobby was so unpredictable and she knew that if she tried to speculate what he was coming to tell her, she'd likely get it all wrong.

Resisting her urge to call him back, she instead got up out of bed and put on some fluffy slippers. It was quite chilly, so she pulled on a smooth white dressing gown over her green and white striped pajamas bottoms and camisole. She made her way into the kitchen and put some coffee on to brew. He was so exasperating! Why couldn't he have told her just enough vital information to ease her mind? That was just Bobby – always mysterious. She would have to trust him and basically just wait and stew in her own juices until he arrived.

Time seemed at a standstill as she intermittently peeked around her blinds, peering down to the street outside. Her anxiety was building with each glance. At long last, a yellow cab approached, coming to a stop out the front. She watched by the light of the street lamp as Bobby went to the trunk and lifted out a huge suitcase. The early morning was crisp, and she was glad to see his hulking form wearing a coat. She buzzed him up and opened her front door in anticipation.

"Bobby!" was all she said when he appeared at the top of the stairs. It was his name after all.

She held the door open while he lugged in the massive suitcase and placed it on the floor. She moved out of the way to give him room. His face was clean-shaven, and he clearly had a lot of personal possessions crammed inside the case. The whole scene sent a momentary cold panic through her bloodstream. She blurted out, "You're going away somewhere?"

He closed the door and shuffled the bag out of the way. He looked up quizzically. "Uh no, it's only…" He hesitated, and his expression changed from mildly confused to dumbfounded.

"Only what?" she asked, her voice full of caution.

"Well uh. I'm not _going_ anywhere. As a matter of fact, I was hoping to stay here – with you." He was suddenly unsure. Had he misread the whole situation between them? _Do you want me here?_ his eyes inquired.

She heaved out the air she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Yeah you can stay," she said simply. For her, that was that.

He remained in doubt. "I'm not moving too fast for you, am I?" His eyes were dipped low as though he was trying to read her.

She shook her head. "No Bobby – you're moving just right." Her eyes were raw and unguarded.

Encouraged, he took two steps forward and rested his large hands on her shoulders, his expression full of barely controlled emotion.

She reached out for his smooth chin. _My Bobby!_ He had finally opened himself up to her. She was in thrall as his warm lips made gentle contact with hers. He glided his hands down the sleeves of her silky dressing gown, his touch was soft and reverent. His eyes were closed, lashes fluttering as though caught in the middle of a dream.

"Eames," he murmured. His dark tones were full of longing.

Alex felt ready to combust right then and there. She was in awe of just how he'd managed to stir her comatose heart after so many years of numbness. She felt vibrant and alive, her passion and desire radiating shamelessly from her core.

He suddenly pulled back from the kiss and quickly embraced her in his arms, drawing her towards him and resting his head on her shoulder. Her hands crept under his overcoat and she wrapped her arms firmly around his substantial middle, seeking his warmth. She deliberately pressed her breasts into his torso. His breath was hot and quick on her shoulder, and his erection was making itself known. Her nipples hardened in response.

Bobby was generally not inclined to hold back his passion when he was in such a state, so she figured that there was likely a very good reason why he'd stopped the kiss instead of marching her straight to the bedroom. She wanted to know what was going on in that beautiful mind of his.

"So did you do some thinking?" she asked into his chest.

He seemed to freeze, and his hot breath suddenly ceased. He took a step back from her, placing his hands loosely on her forearms. His eyes were sober. "I made a decision Eames – an important one that affects you too."

She looked up at him with resolve. "OK, you can tell me," she encouraged.

He inhaled deeply and released it. "I want to work with Logan."

His words hung there for a moment – isolated and bare. He nervously watched for her reaction, dark eyes full of concern.

She swallowed once, her eyes moistening. She suspected it was coming, but still she wasn't ready to end their partnership. She felt selfish and guilty for not being happy for him. It was what she wanted for him really, but it was excruciatingly hard to face.

"Alex?" he asked, his tone full of sorrow

She ensnared her escaping emotions and stated what he deserved to hear from her. "I'm relieved Bobby – truly I am. This is what you need." She nodded decisively as though to reassure herself.

He didn't know what reaction he expected, but it wasn't this. She seemed so subdued, but her eyes betrayed her; she couldn't bear the fact that he had effectively just put and end to their partnership in a single sentence. Her heaving chest did not escape his powers of observation. .

His brow creased with worry as he searched his heart for the right words to explain. He squeezed her hands and locked his eyes to her shiny ones. He spoke gently,"Eames, this partnership, we've given it our all – there was never one better than ours." His statement hopelessly fell short of how much their work together had meant – still meant.

He thumbed a stray tear from her eyes. "But Alex, I want something different for us now, and I owe it to you to give it my best shot." His heart was on his sleeve. "I want us to build a life together, so we're much more than just the job." He searched her eyes for her reaction. He paused, his voice vulnerable. "Will you help me?"

She looked up at her partner, best friend, and man – well her everything really - and liquefied under the spell of his loving and intensely anxious gaze. "Yes I'll help. We'll make it happen Bobby - I promise." It was a vow.

He leaned down to kiss her, but she placed her palm gently on his chest to prevent him. It nigh on killed her to be so practical and cold at such a moment, but this was too monumental to be usurped with kisses. She had to be certain. "You're leaving because it's what _you_ want Bobby, not for any other reason, right?" As romantic as his words were, she did not want him to fall on his sword with some gallant notion of saving her career. Her eyes demanded the truth from him.

Her question was a fair one, and he answered it honestly. "I _am_ doing this for me Eames - to get my life back, my health." His hand touched the palm she'd rested on his chest. "The PI firm, I'll take it slow at first – give myself some time to breathe…and time to romance you," he added seductively. "It's what I want." He was firm in his declaration.

She accepted the sincerity of his words. "So you're excited about your decision then?" she asked. Her palm moved higher, and she could feel his heart beating inside of him.

"I promised you I would be, and I'm a man of my word.' He seized her hand from his chest and grasped it hard as his energy surged palpably. "Can I kiss you now?" His voice was bottomless in its depth of desire.

She nodded mesmerized, and Bobby Goren began his first investigation, finally free of the stifling clutches of the NYPD. His hands tentacled out and suctioned onto their object of desire.

Alex bent her neck to the side to allow his mouth better access, and her body jolted into a lightning storm each time a part of him came into contact with her. Alex's wayward hands roamed under his winter coat seeking his hot zone. She ran her hands down from his waist to his upper thighs, and his breathing quickened at her touch. "Uuuh," came his muffled reply, and he smothered her with aggressive kisses and squeezes to her buttocks.

He wasn't wearing a belt and she blindly pulled at the waistband of his jeans, hooking her fingers through the loops and pulling his pelvis against her while he divested her of her dressing gown. She felt his ready hardness through her pajamas as he nipped and tongued the swell of her heaving breasts. _Oh! _

"You really are excited, aren't you?" she managed to utter.

He ceased his kissing momentarily and smiled a Bobby Goren smile. He looked so masculine, so confident and so heavily laden with desire. She grabbed his hand and yanked him towards her bedroom.

He had his clothes and shoes off before she could even open the drawer for the condoms. He came up behind from her, and grabbed the box from her. She turned to face him.

_You OK for this? _ his eyes enquired.

She nodded. Even though he'd expressed his enthusiasm for it, she hadn't wanted to sleep with him in the traditional sense while she had been menstruating. It had turned out to be a good decision as they'd gotten even more intimate with each other by participating in a huge range of alternative erotic activities (she had a flashback of blindfolding, iced nipples, head and hand hanky panky – not to mention a little spanky.) Now her period had subsided, and she wanted him to once again possess her from the inside. It had been far too long, and she was starving for a Bobby invasion.

The only problem was, she was a trembling mess of nerve endings as he stripped her slowly and drank her in with his hungry eyes. She sensed he wanted to take the lead on this occasion, and she found herself grateful to relinquish it. He pushed her decisively down on the bed and positioned himself above her, exploring with his mouth and fingers. He was blowing and licking and humming in approval, stopping only to press his head between her breasts, pushing them together as he inhaled and exhaled in breathy approval.

The gazes and touches he was bestowing upon her were intensely heated and raw, and she was rendered too paralyzed to respond. She found that all she could manage was to stroke his beautiful face in whimpering awe while he petted her way down there with one of his opposable thumbs. She lost all thought as waves of arousal permeated through her centre.

This marked the very first encounter where she did not roll the condom on what she had secretly dubbed his 'ivory tower'. She found herself with no free will to actively participate. She simply succumbed to his attentions, and trusted him to transport her where he would. Although Bobby had shown her 31 flavors over the past couple of weeks, she kind of knew he'd go for wedding-night missionary on this occasion. She found herself more than willing to perform her wifely duty, and just lie back and let him have his way.

The only move she could muster was to spread her legs as he prized them apart with his knee. She lifted the limbs in question wide and high to give him unrestricted access. He gripped her thighs and maneuvered them to the angle he required, before lunging himself into her with an untamed enthusiasm.

She gasped as his hardness solidly penetrated her. He flexed his hips, stretching her insides to capacity, but she was ripe and ready for his love. Each and every atom in her body vibrated, and her abdominal muscles hardened to match her nipples. She released an unrestrained cry into the dawning day.

The sound startled him. "You OK?" he whispered, the tension in his voice apparent. Receiving only a moan of delight in reply, he pumped into her once slowly, and withdrew almost completely. He was testing the waters for her wetness. He plunged in again, inching up slowly, before retreating. He then repeated the move a third time, his pace fading.

She sought refuge from the frustration under his huge chest and sucked at one of his nipples while clinging to his biceps with her hands. She was pulsing and pliant and succulent for him, and he seemed to be deliberately withholding the quick motion that she was burning for. "Faster," she begged. She suddenly became aware that his fingers had moved down somewhere close to the location where she was currently being impaled by his plump and heavy rod. He started to strum her like a guitar, evidently concerned that she wasn't yet wet enough to take him. He needn't have worried -she was positively saturated with need. Her body was shaking and trembling with it.

She moved her hand and slapped him lightly on a bare buttock in encouragement, and it had the much-desired effect. She sensed a chuckle as the single blow spurred him into a slow and achingly delicious canter. He was now encasing the back of her knees with his hands, which produced a violent tingling sensation. She surrendered her attempts to hold her legs high in the air, and her knees bent in submission.

Alex Eames had officially been transported to another dimension.

His scores of thrusts were rhythmic and perfectly spaced out. So overwhelmingly heavy was the luscious weight of his love, she could barely move her hips to meet him. Her mouth watered as she sucked at his chest. He was so deeply into her that his head was too high up to reach her face and kiss her like he loved to do. Still, their differences in height and size had so far revealed more benefits than drawbacks. She was experiencing the distinct advantages of his circumference right then, as he pounded and pummeled into her with just the right amount of bump, thump and pump.

Her hands gripped his rump in response. His groans were low and throaty as his motion quickened into a blissful gallop, his strong back covered with sweat.

Sensing that his loss of control was imminent, he paused to grasp her hips. He sought her eyes and his gaze oozed with sex, and his whole body whiffed of it. He tilted his angle so the shaft of his cock created an arousing friction along the area where her g-spot lay. He moved, and jerked, and slid in her secret spaces, eliciting, stimulating, provoking...

She screamed out his name – she was lost. "Oh Bobby, Bobby Oh! Don't stop!"

He moved his head down to her ear and murmured "I'll never stop loving you like this."

He continued to deliver his hard love into her with an increasing and sustained fervor. She closed her eyes at the emanating sensations of pleasure throughout her system, her crescendo fast approaching. It finally manifested itself with a rapturous, body-curling orgasm that made her wail up to the heavens of this world and the next.

Ever considerate, Bobby slowed his movements, allowing her a moment to catch her breath as the aftershocks of her climax radiated through her. She sucked hard on his shoulder, bruising him in a vague attempt to contain her outrageous response.

Bobby wasn't done yet. He was far from done. He once again resumed his bumping and grinding motions into her depths, causing her pelvis and thighs to quake. She moaned in delight, inciting him to kiss her closed eyelids.

"You like that baby. You want more?" he asked.

She willed her eyes open and rested on his hand, which was cradling the back of her head. She never knew where his hands might be at any given moment. It seemed like he had a thousand fingers at his disposal, all of them dedicated to worshipping her skin. Bobby was staring at her from above with a look that bared his soul, and his one reddened and damaged eye reflected his achingly appealing fragility, which was always counterbalanced by the enormous strength he possessed.

His moving shoulders were bulging, and his eager lips and sensual eyelashes were focused intently on what pleased her. The free flowing current of pleasure caused her to close her eyes once more. She attempted to formulate a response to his long-ago uttered question. _Did she like it? Did she want more?_

"I want more," her vocal cords valiantly managed to produce. Her eyes closed – the moment too much to take in.

"Look at me," he asked gently, ceasing the motion of his hips. She re-opened her eyes in compliance- only to find him gazing at her with such a depth of devotion; it was startling. His dark and loving brown-eyed stare weaved its way down to her fast-beating heart.

The world paused.

He spoke. "I'll give you more Eames, I promise."

With his solemn vow, he positioned her higher onto the pillows so he could more easily access her face and lips. He edged his tongue steeply down into her mouth and resumed his vigorous lovemaking. The motion of his French kissing was out of synch with the rhythm of his shifting pelvis, driving her senses insane.

His crushing passion was almost too much to bear. He had penetrated her too deeply, and had discovered too many secret places in her heart, mind and body. Her legs started to splay in defeat, so she hooked her heels loosely around the small of his back and wrapped her arms just above his waist, clinging to his heat. She felt the change in angle as she did so, and it stirred something deep and primal within her. Her walls clenched him in a vice-grip.

His lips and hands never rested in their fervor, and the lower half of her body unexpectedly produced a series of uncontrollable internal tremors as her climax ripped through her. She had the fleeting conviction that she might even die from the joy. Her cries of esctasy drowned out his low moans as he finally released his passion into her. His hips boredown with hard, swift motions before he collapsed heavily onto her body. He'd given all of himself to her, and he was spent.

They fell into a half-slumber entangled in each other as the sun gently rose. She felt secure enough in his arms to cry softly into his chest without hiding from him.

He hugged her to him, understanding that she was mourning their partnership. Bearing witness to such strong and tender emotions from her was still foreign to Bobby. He could count the number of times he'd seen her cry on one hand, with a couple of fingers left over. But he was a fast learner, and this time he knew what to do – hold her.

He simply held her naked form and soothed her naked emotions. He kept her warm by sharing his body heat and gently rubbing her back. He inhaled the scent of her hair and stroked her silky head, intoxicated by her womanly fragrance. Consoling her like this made him feel like a man - her lover. He understood that he had a new and sacred responsibility to fulfill, and he would not let her down.

* * *

><p>They talked over his decision both in and out of bed all day Saturday, Sunday, and even until the wee hours of Monday morning. They went for walks, cooked, showered, made out, and and inevitably found their way back to the bedroom. Sometimes they made love slowly, and sometimes they fucked hard. They laughed and wept and reminisced about the years they had shared together.<p>

He wanted nothing more than to give their burgeoning relationship a good start. So he asked her - insisted in fact - that she take the next three or four weeks off with him to navigate the specifics of their work and living arrangements without any outside pressure.

Given the trauma they'd both suffered working the Dryden case, he figured that the department would approve the break. Bobby had used up all but a few days of his paid leave (most of it enforced after Frank's death), but he figured he'd have a few other entitlements owing to him, which would help make ends meet until his pension started rolling in.

A lot of negotiations took place between Bobby and Alex that weekend, but in the end they found themselves in alignment. They both agreed to give their new relationship the focus it deserved by clearly separating it from the work they'd each still be doing. Neither was naïve enough to believe that it would be smooth sailing from here on in. There would be big changes ahead – but they were confident that they knew each other well enough to deal with them as they arose.

Monday morning approached, and Bobby had an appointment with destiny (and Captain Ross).


	32. Monday

**MONDAY **

_Monday_ – the very word sends shivers down the spine of most workers. However, Bobby Goren had never really experienced the psychological stigma attached to Mondays. Today was different though. Today he was going to resign from the NYPD after twenty years of service – almost half of that alongside Eames. Yes, this particular Monday had meaning.

He stood under the shower head alone, the warm soothing water pleasing his scalp and back. Being sexually and emotionally sated had affected his mood somewhat, and he was feeling more positive than he had any right to expect. She loved him; she wanted to live with him. So why was he leaving her alone at Major Case?

Oh yeah, he was miserable there.

Somewhere along the way, he'd disengaged from the job, and set his internal autopilot to 'solve'. He still solved, but it was without ceremony, feeling, energy or artistry. His continued attempts to navigate his way through the dense, sniper-filled jungle had sucked him dry, and his struggle was self-evident every time he looked in the mirror.

It had been hard on her too, carrying him on her back through the jungle. The nature of her suffering had been much more subtle than his. But he was a first-grade detective, and he noticed the little details: the frowning, the slumped shoulders, the negative comments, the sighs.

To see her smiling so much of late had eased his guilt, and he couldn't quite fathom that it was he who was responsible for her newfound happiness. He wanted to give her more.

But he wasn't just leaving just for her. He needed out, and had needed out for a long time. The brass didn't give a rat's ass about him, and never would. He had become number one persona non grata in the NYPD, tolerated only because of his partner, and their outstanding solve-rate. One more foul-up, and he'd be out on his ear, and they'd wipe their hands clean of Detective Goren.

_Well fuck that_, he thought. _I want more._

There was no point dwelling on the unfairness of way others perceived him. Life wasn't fair or unfair – it was just life. He would never be able to shake off his notoriety within the ranks of the NYPD, so why not just walk away from it? Logan had done it, and he had no regrets.

Goren allowed himself to fantasize about just how he would quit. Like every disgruntled employee, he longed to face-off with the enemy – in this case the Chief of Detectives. Goren had once groveled to keep his job, but he wasn't beholden to the asshole anymore. There was a certain heady power at possibly having the opportunity to barge into Moran's office, unload grievances, and march off into the sunset.

But would Moran or any of the brass really give shit? _No_! he realized. They won't learn from it, and they don't care. Any outburst he laid on them would just be more fodder to use against him. And it would likely end up being just another anecdote about 'the wack job' to be salivated over at the annual Christmas party. Moran could still make life hard for Goren with this bogus hearing if he chose to do so. Fuck! He had to be levelheaded about this.

The water in the shower suddenly ran a little too cold. He instinctively reached for the faucet to turn up the heat when he was abruptly struck by what Eames would call a 'Goren moment'.

He paused to contemplate the big H stamped within a circle on the front of the old-fashioned faucet _HOT_. The inanimate object seemed to be trying to communicate something important.

After a few moments had passed, Bobby slowly reached for out for the handle of the cold faucet instead, turning it a little to the right. His gentle motion caused the water pressure to reduce. The temperature then adjusted itself to the desired level, and he was warm once again.

Goren realized that he didn't need to turn up the pressure and the heat to get the result he wanted. Confronting Moran or yelling at Ross would increase the pressure and stress on him, and probably wouldn't achieve a whole lot. There were other ways to get satisfaction.

Besides, Alex wasn't quitting. She would still have to work under both Ross and Moran. Apart from getting his frustration off his chest, Bobby couldn't see how stirring up a mini-hurricane could help her.

_Eames!_ The thought of Detective Daniels sitting at his desk as her new partner made his blood boil. Would that guy have her back? How would Goren know she was safe? He new of Daniel's solid reputation, still...

But Goren found he could not underestimate her capabilities. Eames was a brilliant detective – the smartest and most astute he'd ever worked with in fact, and her quick decisions had never let them down. He was glad she wasn't quitting. The city owed her a pension and her talents would go to waste if she took the pencil-pushing job with Carver. No – she belonged with the NYPD for now. What's more, she was going to come home to a man who loved her. One who had shaken off his misery and found something to get excited about.

Working with Logan was going to be a trip. Bobby really was animated at the prospect. He had called Logan he previous day to tell him the good news. To say Mike had been enthusiastic was an understatement. He was downright over the moon and had explained how he was sick of working alone, and frustrated at having to turn down a plethora of lucrative jobs that had come his way. He also shared his brewing plans to fan out the business into different directions, and Bobby found himself getting caught up in it all. Logan even joked that they'd have to conduct interviews for a secretary before too long.

Whether every idea the two of them discussed was viable or not was beside the point. The reality was that Bobby Goren was coming back to life. For too long he'd been like a stone statue with a flesh and blood man trapped inside, just waiting for the right opportunity to break out of the confines of his self-imposed prison.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 9.00 AM <strong>

**ONE POLICE PLAZA**

Goren and Eames stood side-by-side in the elevator bound for the 11th floor. Although he'd promised her he'd be upbeat about leaving, he knew that they both felt a sense of overwhelming sadness as they walked through the bullpen to talk to Ross. She had announced her intention to accompany him under the proviso of asking the Captain for a month's leave. But Bobby knew that her real motive was to have his back, and keep him on track, like she'd always done when they found themselves summoned to Ross's office.

They spied the Captain at his desk behind the glass doors. He had spotted them, but was busying himself with something. Goren turned to his partner. "I want to go in alone," he announced softly.

She looked at him warily. Goren and Ross alone in the same room had never really worked out. "You aren't gonna tell him to take the job and shove it, are you?" she asked with a shadow of a grin.

"No, I just…it will be harder if you're there," he admitted.

She nodded in understanding. She wanted to kiss him on the cheek or something, but the many eyes in the bullpen were already staring at Goren who was all clean-shaven and dressed in his best suit. The unwelcome observers were no doubt speculating that he was about to get raked over the coals once again.

Instead of a kiss on the cheek, she gave him a look that was its visual equivalent. Goren raised his eyebrows in gratitude, and then entered the lion's den.

His droopy blue-eyed captain invited him to close the door and take a seat. Bobby obliged, and placed his rear in the swivel chair, looking over at his boss thoughtfully.

Goren found himself in a predicament. Across from him sat a man who had deliberately exacerbated every heated situation that had ever arisen between them; here sat a man that had questioned his judgment at every turn; here sat a man who so rarely acknowledged a job well done; here sat a man who once thought him capable of murder. In fact, he could fill his binder with a list of Captain Ross's wrongdoings and questionable managerial decisions.

But at the same time, Ross was a human being - a father - and definitely not the enemy. Besides, Ross had recently done something to almost earn himself absolution in Goren's eyes. He'd protected Eames.

Ross had deliberately overlooked Dryden's text message, which identified Eames (in a roundabout way) as the woman on the sex tape. It was Ross who came up with the theory that the filmed woman had been a one-night-stand of Goren's, and Goren didn't even have to utter a word of confirmation or denial in response. Ross's assertion had made things crystal clear to Nichols and Wheeler about how the story was to play out on paper.

Simply by maintaining his silence, Ross had been complicit in Goren, Nichols and Wheeler's attempts to find all traces of the footage for obliteration. He'd even allowed Nichols and Wheeler to search through all the mobile devices and computers at Rikers, without any outside technical assistance. Fortunately, no copies of the footage had turned up, but Goren had no doubt they would have been quietly deleted if a situation like that had eventuated.

Ross had not ordered further scrutiny of Brownlow's servers, nor had he asked probing questions about what had really gone down between Eames and Fletcher at Micky's bar. That wasn't to say the Captain had covered anything up, he just knew what _not_ to probe. Goren could not deny that he'd had their backs all the way – and it was about damn time!

Goren wanted Ross to continue to have Eames' back as a part of his squad. And that was the main reason why he'd decided not to burn any bridges with his soon-to-be former captain. But oh! Deep down inside he was sorely tempted to take the low road.

"Detective Goren, you look well-rested. I trust you took the weekend to consider my question," announced the curly haired captain, looking slightly smarmy as he always did. He really had no idea what was about to come.

Bobby recalled his question.

_If she were under serious threat, who would you protect first – a member of the public or Eames?_

"I've had the weekend to consider a lot of things, Captain."

"And? Do you have an answer for me?"

Bobby sat forward, and spoke seriously. "The truth is, I don't know how a life-threatening situation like that would play out. None of us can ever really predict our reactions in advance. We rely on instinct."

Ross felt he was hedging. "Well I need greater assurance than that. I have to know your judgment won't be clouded."

"Well I can't give you any more insight on the matter," said Goren, assaulting Ross with his gaze.

The Captain looked perturbed, and he spoke firmly and quickly. "Well if that's the case, then I won't be able to put you and Eames back out there until you're sure. You'll be partnered with Wheeler effective immediately." Ross's eyes challenged Goren's, albeit warily.

Goren looked away. He could see Eames pacing by through the transparent glass wall of the Ross's office; she was talking on the phone. "That won't be necessary captain," he said with detachment.

"And why is that?"

Goren's eyes met Ross's once more. "Because I resign – effectively immediately." His words were slow and deliberate with no trace of hostility. Goren felt detached from his body as his caged soul was suddenly liberated. He observed his captain's reaction with curiosity. The man seemed to be at a loss for words.

Ross composed himself. "I see." He regarded Goren with caution. "Is this sudden decision based purely on my question?"

"No." said Goren firmly.

"No?"

"No. This is not sudden. It's been a long time coming Captain; you know that." Goren sat back in his chair, the hard part over.

Ross brushed his comment aside. "If this is about the hearing, I told you that it's still extremely unlikely, Moran's just blowing smoke, and I'm sure..."

Goren placed one hand on Ross's desk and spoke slowly. "It's not about the hearing. I'll face the hearing and defend my actions if it comes to that.'

Ross looked confused. "Well then, may I ask your reasons?"

Bobby briefly thought about toying with the man, but decided against it. "The job just isn't what I want anymore. It hasn't been for a while." Bobby was surprised by the confidence and lack of sentiment in his voice.

Ross nodded, his mind ticking. "I sincerely hope Detective Eames hasn't come to the same conclusion." There was Ross, thinking about how it would affect him and his human resources.

"Well, that's something you'll have to ask her," uttered Goren purely to make him panic.

Ross blanched.

Bobby displayed mercy, and put the man out of his misery. "But I believe she intends to stay with the squad – yes."

"Well thank goodness for that," Ross muttered, shuffling random papers in front of him.

The Captain was once again at a loss for words. He had not seriously entertained the notion that Goren would resign, and he felt shell-shocked at the news. Ross was not sure if it was relief or alarm that was hitting him. The huge concession of not losing Eames as well allowed him to take the resignation graciously. Instead of dwelling on the 'why', he made it easier on Goren by going into administrative mode. Ross promised he'd gather the requisite forms, and assist in expediting the details of his pension and entitlements.

"If you want my advice detective, I would take a 30-day leave of absence before offering your papers. Contact your rep, and we'll wait and see if hearing goes away once Moran gets wind of your intentions. Should you decide to come back after the month is up, your job will be open for you." He felt sure Goren should have a cooling off period in the event that he changed his mind. The big detective could be rash and tempestuous at the best of times, and he did not want him to decide in haste, and repent at leisure.

Goren shook his head firmly. "I've made up my mind Captain. Today will be my last day with Major Case." The determined look in his eye and the hard setting of his jaw demonstrated that he meant it. " But the leave of absence is a good idea," Bobby conceded. He could see the sense in withdrawing slowly to garner as little attention as possible.

Ross nodded. "Well I'll organize it."

"And Eames will also need a month's leave. It's been a rough case for her."

Ross was taken aback, but gave in pretty much immediately. Both Craven and Dryden had made attempts on her life, and she'd suffered the stress of the sex-tape fiasco. As tough as she was, she would need some time-out to recover. "I'm sure that won't be a problem," assured Ross. The captain's mind drifted elsewhere. The squad would be extremely short-staffed, and he would have to see if he could get Daniels in sooner than planned to make up the shortfall.

Goren changed the subject. "Any news on Fletcher?"

Ross looked up from his interrupted thoughts. "Up in the air, the Feds can't trace the bullets. Still looks like the Mafia."

"And Pentoff?"

"No trace of him – dead or alive," answered Ross. "Not that a missing foreign prostitute is huge priority for the Bahraini police. The embassy's been notified at any rate – he could be still in the region or he could be dead."

Bobby nodded. He felt that Zachary Pentoff could provide a lot of missing pieces in this case, but he had to let this one go. He changed the subject. "And Moran?"

Ross knew he was referring to the rumors surrounding Moran and video evidence that had apparently been found at June Fletcher's apartment. "I haven't heard anything new on that front. Moran's being too cocky though. I think it might be one of his close buddies in hot water, rather than the Chief himself."

Goren nodded. He hoped Moran would go down sooner or later, but it would not affect his decision to resign.

Ross looked at him curiously. "You sure you really want to leave Detective? You were born for this." _More than anyone I've ever seen_, he neglected to add.

Goren exhaled, leaning back further in the swivel chair, limbs spread out as far as they were allowed. "It's been my life," he admitted.

Ross considered his words. "Maybe that's the whole problem. The job's been my life too, and I've paid the price," confessed Ross. His messy divorce and the break-up of his family had been in no small part due to his dedication to his professional ambitions.

Goren understood what he was getting at without further clarification. He was always thrown for a loop whenever he was exposed to Ross's human side. Goren regarded him closely until the Captain began to look unnerved.

Bobby decided just to get it off his chest once and for all. "You and I - right from the first day - we uh..clashed, didn't we?" He found it hard to continue. When it came to interpersonal conversations, Bobby always found himself at a loss. "I just wanted to..."

Ross spared him by pushing an open palm in Goren's direction. "I fully acknowledge we failed to witness each others finest hours over the years, and I understand that it was probably as much my fault as yours. But we got the results – and in the end, that's all that matters.

Goren didn't appreciate being cut off with a hand in his face; that was part of the problem. Ross was a leader, and as such, he should listen to his detectives before shooting off at the mouth. And while results were undoubtedly important, so was an accommodating atmosphere in which to achieve them. Was it really worth the effort to explain this concept to Ross? Bobby could readily admit to the dozens of mistakes he'd made over the years, but Ross seemed unwilling or unable to do the same. Why? Bobby's thoughts went unvoiced as he was interrupted once more.

"Your work here – you and detective Eames – it's always been exceptional, extraordinary even. Nobody can deny that."

Goren smiled at the mention of her name. Simply by praising her, Ross had effectively disarmed him of his desire to make further accusations. "Thank you for saying that sir." Although Bobby was not fully satisfied, it was as close to a resolution that the two of them were ever likely to achieve.

Goren took the high road, and without another word, he stood up and carefully placed his badge and gun on the table. He then offered his hand.

Ross stood up and shook it firmly. He looked moved. "I am sorry to see you go Detective. I'll make sure the department does right by you." For once, he sounded sincere.

"I don't want any fanfare sir, just what I'm owed."

Ross realized he hadn't even asked Goren what his plans were. He never expected this volatile detective to leave so amicably. "It's been an experience Detective Goren. I've never seen another cop like you."

Bobby chose to take it as a compliment. "It was a roller coaster huh?"

Ross raised his eyebrows in agreement. The office phone rang, and Ross put it on hold. "Could I persuade you and Eames to join me and Elizabeth for farewell drinks?"

"Uh, sure." The distraction of the call threw Bobby, and found he couldn't refuse. He'd never been for a drink with Ross before, but Bobby was fond of Rodgers, and was truly sorry at how she'd been dragged into this case because of Moran's grudge against him.

"Good – I'll make the arrangements. Any objections to inviting Nichols and Wheeler along?"

Goren gave a slight nod. "That'd be fine – but uh..let's keep it at that." Goren did not want this to turn into a farewell party. It was part of the reason he had agreed resign only after the pretext of the leave of absence.

"Certainly detective. Come back and see me in a few hours, and I'll have those forms for you," said Ross.

Goren wanted to point out that he was a detective no longer, but he instead turned his back and walked out as Ross picked up his call.

As he exited, Eames rushed over and dragged him into a quiet corner. "How did it go?" She asked, aware that Jeffries and Andrews were eavesdropping, and had probably already noticed Goren was not wearing his badge and gun.

He exhaled, unable to hide his relief. "It was fine – amicable – I'll tell you more later." Goren was also aware that they never had privacy in the bullpen. "He wants me to take a 30-day leave of absence before making it official. It's not a bad idea."

Eames also liked the sound of that. It would allow Bobby to leave quietly without the headache of all the accolades that would be bestowed upon him for his service. Eames knew that he richly deserved them, and more. He'd had an incredibly successful and high profile career both in Narcotics, and Major Case. But she also understood his humble personality and strong dislike for the brass. He wouldn't want any fuss if he could possibly avoid it.

Eames nodded. "Well I'll ask for the same – 30 days."

"He already said he'd approve it." Goren could not conceal his anticipation.

She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "How do you think we'll fill thirty whole days?"

Goren glanced around the bullpen. It seems they were still the center of attention. "Oh, I have plans," he whispered hotly.

She suddenly realized that it might have been very hard indeed to remain his partner and keep her feelings a secret. Frankly, she wanted to jump his bones right then and there. "Well, we'll have to go over your plans later," she said, keeping her voice businesslike.

She changed the subject, and handed him his cell. "The doctor's office called while you were in with Ross. There was a cancellation. You're booked in at 10.15 tomorrow. You're not supposed to eat after 8pm tonight because they're carrying out blood tests, so make sure you have a big lunch with Logan today."

He wanted to make a suggestion about what he planned to have for dinner instead, but they were at work. "You want to come with me?" he asked.

"To the doctor, or to lunch?" she asked.

"Either one."

"Well I've got to talk to Ross. I'm officially on duty today." _Though I don't have a partner_, she realized sadly.

Goren observed the change on her countenance, but did not comment. "Alright, you stay here then. I'll come back this afternoon. Ross wants me to fill in some forms." _You OK_? His eyes asked.

She smiled. "You and Logan should have your girl-talk in private anyway."

Her snark reassured him, and he smirked. He now felt better about leaving her at such a moment. Truthfully, he wanted to get out into the fresh air to process what had just occurred. And Logan would be the one guy in the world who would get it.

She gave him a look, wanting desperately to hug him – but he was off-limits until later.

He raised his eyebrows in understanding. "I'll be back in a few hours."

"You made the right decision," she said quietly, looking up at him.

He nodded in thanks, and walked towards the elevator. He tried not to make a big deal out of the moment, but it was a huge deal.

Eames didn't give in to her threatening tears as she watched his departing form. She dug deep within herself, locating her strength and resolve as she always did. She marched herself straight towards the Captain's office to apply for her leave of absence.

* * *

><p>On Wednesday night at around 10.30pm, Goren entered the 11th floor of One Police Plaza. He told himself that it really wasn't for the last time. And that lie would help him through the next hour or so. He'd no doubt visit Eames at 1PP at some point in the future, but tonight he'd officially come to clear out his desk.<p>

He'd made this trip without Alex, who was off visiting her sister. When Bobby had left the apartment earlier that evening, Eames had thankfully been in a good mood. The lab had rushed though Goren's health test results, and although not impressive, they were not life-threatening either. He was going to need a further appointment or two in order to address the more worrying elements – including his blood pressure. In the meantime, he'd have to haul his treadmill over to Alex's apartment.

Goren was relieved that she hadn't insisted on accompanying him to clear out his desk. In truth, he didn't want her there to watch him place all his possessions into a cardboard box. If she'd cried, he would have changed his mind on the spot.

He felt rather affected himself, but went with the safety of denial. Their adjoining desks had been such a big part of his life, and it struck him as odd that two cheap rectangular pieces of furniture could house so many sacred memories. Only one thing stopped his emotions from spilling over, and that was Jeffries' presence in the bullpen. It wasn't like him to stay back this late, and Goren was bothered by the detective's intermittent gaping at what he was witnessing.

Detective Jeffries had slightly more hair than the fully bald Andrews, and Goren had always liked Jeffries slightly more than his counterpart. This was mainly because of his fast-thinking conduct when Eames had been abducted all those years ago. Even now, Goren shuddered at the memories of that moment.

**Jeffries**

From Goren's very first day at Major Case, his presence on the squad had been strongly resented by both Jeffries and Andrews, and Goren never really got to the bottom of why they disliked him so much.

He theorized that they were old-school Detectives, whereas Goren had been young, cocky, Armani-clad, and unorthodox. But Goren's biggest crime in their eyes had been he and Eames' high solve rate, which garnered a lot of media attention early on. Over the years, Goren and Eames were always assigned the juiciest cases, despite Jeffries and Andrews vastly more comprehensive experience. Goren had to admit that he had rarely demonstrated a desire for their assistance, and probably didn't make as much as an effort in listening to their expertise as he should have.

In more recent years, Jeffries and Andrews almost seemed to revel in his personal and professional failures with their snide comments and judgmental glances. They had never even offered even the most minor of condolences after the losses he had suffered, nor did they welcome him back after his almost 6 month suspension. In fact, they seemed to avoid him like the plague. But Goren had Eames, and she was all he had ever needed from Major Case. Fortunately, the two bald men had always treated Eames well, so he left it alone.

No, Jeffries and Andrews he would not miss.

"Goren?" came a voice behind him.

Bobby glanced at him, but continued to put his things in the box. "Jeffries, can I do anything for you?" There was no friendliness in Goren's tone, but he didn't want to be hostile either. Eames would still have to work with him after all.

Jeffries looked awkward."Uh, are you leaving? There are rumors going around about you and Eames jumping ship." Goren and Eames' ostensible leaves of absence had not gone unnoticed.

"There are always rumors circulating about me and Eames," commented Goren. Jeffries didn't deserve a confirmation or denial for the betting pool.

"Did they suspend you?" Jeffries blurted out.

'No" Goren answered without a trace of defensiveness. " I'm taking a leave of absence – by choice. It's been a tough case."

"Yeah, well you've had more than your fair share of tough cases over the years."

They were the greatest number of consecutive words that Jeffries had ever spoken to him. He didn't know yet whether that was such a good thing. "Yeah well, we all have tough cases," acknowledged Goren.

"I guess having such a good partner got you through," said the older man.

Goren regarded him with a little more kindness. "You're not wrong there Jeffries."

Jeffries was hesitant. "You know, I've always been kind of envious of you. My partner ain't so pretty."

If it was meant as a joke, Jeffries didn't laugh.

Goren's irritation grew. He didn't want this conversation to be his last memory of his workplace. He lifted up the box and glared at him. "What is it you want Jeffries?"

"To apologize," Jeffries spat out, glancing in the direction of the top drawer of Goren's desk.

"To apologize? For what?" He had a brewing suspicion of just what Jeffries was referring to.

Goren's mind drifted back to the very evening when his suspension had finally ended; he'd been so relieved to get his shield back. Eames had been mad at him - madder than she'd ever been - but she did not end the partnership as he'd feared. And although he was wracked with guilt, he remembered feeling grateful for that.

Then he'd opened the top drawer of his desk where he'd come face-to-face with a large and stinking rat corpse - retribution for his getting Stoat and Melago arrested he supposed.

Jeffries wasn't present in the bullpen at that exact moment, but his partner Andrews had been. When Goren looked around to see if anyone had witnessed the incident, Andrews had dropped his gaze pretty damn quickly. And Goren had suspected him, just for a moment. He never tried to confirm his suspicions, but that incident had made Bobby feel like shit for months – it was just so personal and malicious. Was it really those two who had done it?

Well, he was about to find out. He put the box back down and eyed Jeffries steadily.

The older detective put his hands on his hips, looking contrite. "I'm sorry about what happened after your reinstatement Goren." He held up one hand in the air. "Let me make it clear, I had nothing to do with it directly, but I couldn't rat out the culprit. You know how it goes," he shrugged. His use of the word 'rat' was a deliberate message.

Now Goren understood what Jeffries had meant by his earlier ambiguous comment _'My partner ain't so pretty.' _It was an ugly act, but Jeffries couldn't betray Andrews – his own partner - for doing it.

Goren sighed. He was livid, but he remembered his resolve to turn the pressure down, not up. So he once again showed himself to be bigger man, and not just in stature. After all, Jeffries didn't have to 'fess up to it. If he hadn't, Goren would have been none the wiser. "OK Jeffries, I accept your apology." Goren offered his hand.

Jeffries shook his hand for only the second time since they'd met. It was a firm and genuine grip. "Whether or not you're coming back Goren, I want you to know that it was an honor watching you work over the years."

Goren felt a lump in his throat, but he hid his response well. "Thank you Jeffries, likewise." He didn't need the man's approval, but it felt good to have it all the same.

"Heard anything more on Counselor Fletcher?" asked Jeffries. He'd worked closely with the ADA on the Picasso case right up until her arrest.

Goren shook his head. He had no wish to talk about this right now.

"It strange. I keep thinking she's going to march over in her high heels at any moment," commented Jeffries wistfully.

Goren tried to think of an appropriate thing to say, since the the old detective seemed genuinely upset. "She was much too young," Goren stated honestly.

Jeffries nodded. "That she was." He turned his back. "I'll leave you alone then Goren. Good luck with whatever's going on with you." The seasoned detective took his coat, and headed for the elevators. His gait seemed tired and despondent.

Goren was now totally alone in the bullpen, but Jeffries words had spooked him. He was almost sure he could hear voices - ghosts - murmuring from the interrogation rooms. Voices of cases past that he wanted to leave far, far behind him.

He packed up the remaining contents of his desk quickly, without getting sentimental over any of them. He emptied his binder of anything department-related. When he was done, placed 'Melissa' in the box. Lifting it, he strode towards the doors of the elevator. Goren did not once glance back at their desks. Eames was his past to be sure, but she was also his present and future.

Detective Goren of Major Case did not make a rash decision to quit, and he was not fired under a cloud of disgrace.

Instead, he had made a powerful and conscious choice to claim what he wanted from his life, and a promising future awaited him outside.

He cast a huge shadow behind him.


	33. Better Shape FINAL CHAPTER

**A/N This is the final chapter  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong>FRIDAY<strong>

It was an unseasonably chilly night in Manhattan, and it was fortunate that the solid skyscrapers served to block out most of the biting wind. Eames gave Goren's hand a squeeze as they approached the entrance of _Arias_, an upmarket wine and tapas bar. Intimate hand-to-hand touches between the two were still novel, and they found they both hungered for the contact after years of self-imposed deprivation.

Bobby reciprocated the squeeze and looked down at Alex with gentle affection. The artificial light from the nearby neon sign had caught her eyes, and the color reminded him of the maple syrup she had drowned her pancakes in that morning. A breakfast like that was too sugary for him; he'd sooner drown in her eyes. For so many years he had avoided doing so but in the end, giving in had been the sweetest of surrenders.

Alex's motive for squeezing his hand had been merely to alleviate his anxiety (it was just a bonus that it felt so warm). She knew that being the center of attention and/or the focus of praise always made Goren highly uncomfortable, and he would undoubtedly do his fair share of squirming and fidgeting tonight. She hoped that Ross would stick to his word and keep everything low-key. Overall though, Alex had high hopes for the night, and was pleasantly surprised that the Captain was picking up the tab for such an expensive venue. She glanced up at Bobby, and her heart skipped a beat at his intent look.

"You swear there's no surprise aspect to this farewell party?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. She was blissfully unaware that there were a couple of bald Major Case detectives Goren most definitely did not want to see, though he hadn't filled her in as to why.

She rolled her eyes and dragged him by the hand towards the entrance. "Come on!"

Once inside the warm bar, he helped her take off her coat. Relishing the experience, she then reached up to assist in the removal of his dark overcoat. He struggled for a moment before submitting to her attentions. The public touchy-feely stuff was new to both of them, but they were educating themselves fast.

Eames had her long hair pinned up loosely. Her simple diamond earrings and pendant set an elegant tone, which was complemented by her plum cocktail dress. She had tried on the garment especially for this occasion, knowing that it was a color he loved. When the eager sales assistant informed her that she looked spectacular, Alex took a second look in the mirrors - and concurred.

Wide straps encasing her shoulders held up the bodice. Her cleavage was for the most part concealed, but accentuated by the tight round cut. The skirt attached to the bodice flared out to the knee in well-cut layered wide pleats. The most interesting feature of the ensemble was a large tie-around sash made from the same plum-colored fabric. From the front, it appeared to be a soft wide belt, but it was tied into a long loose bow in the back. It was without doubt one of the most beautiful dresses she had ever owned.

Just before leaving her (their) apartment, she had asked Bobby to fasten her necklace, zip her up, and check that the long bow in back looked straight. He had been driven into a near frenzy over the material, the bow, and the glimpse of her lingerie as he zipped. Even though he was well aware that they were running late, he had asked her (most politely) if she would allow him to lift her skirt for a 'quick one' over the kitchen counter.

Her resolve faltered for a moment he when he nudged the front half of her body against the counter, and pressed his large form closely behind her. He proceeded to skate his palms down the smooth, soft fabric of her dress. His hands roamed around her hips before his ready fingers untied the bow and re-fumbled with the zipper.

"No Bobby!" she protested in breathy frustration.

He responded by nibbling and licking softly at the back of her neck while breathing in her perfume with a heady appreciation.

"Yes," he whispered.

Alex had always possessed an iron will, and resisting his charms for so many years had only served to build up its fearsome strength. She found herself calling upon its power to steadfastly rebuff his advances. She stepped away decisively, pointing out that his game was to shirk the social gathering entirely by distracting her with his sexpertise.

Eames had laid down a smidgeon more than $500 to purchase the dress, so by God he was going to stare at her in it for a few hours before he laid _her _down. Besides, making him wait all night was sure to reap _huge_ rewards later.

* * *

><p>But right now, in the foyer of <em>Arias<em>, she was feeling more than a little remorse for her earlier resistance. The (presumably) Spanish coat check guy was ogling Goren with a look of unashamed admiration, and Eames found herself shooting the young man a secret smile of agreement. There was no doubt about it; Bobby looked downright edible.

He wore an elegant black dinner jacket over a forest green dress shirt (top two buttons undone), and had chosen well-cut charcoal designer trousers, which draped him in a way that made his butt and thighs look delectable. His hair had just the right amount of curl, and there was something about his aura tonight; it was downright commanding.

The shade of green really became him. It seemed that no matter what Goren elected to wear, he always did it well. But it wasn't just his dress-sense that made him so appealing. Maybe she was biased, but he had just seemed more of an imposing presence over the past few weeks. Since….well since they'd started sleeping together.

Eames noted that there had been a definite change in the way he walked and carried himself. He was more confident, oozed more masculinity and acted as though he was the owner-occupier of the real estate his body took up; and what was more, the property was infused with an magnetic field that permeated from the inside out.

His kinetic energy reminded her of how he'd been in the earlier years of their partnership, but she had to admit she found him even more appealing in this seasoned form. His cockiness had transformed into a less-showy kind of wisdom, and he seemed kinder, softer. Instead of feeling repentant for not getting their act together years ago, Alex found herself grateful that their romantic love had not developed until this phase of their lives. To have him in his current form seemed exactly right.

Eames had always complemented Bobby well, so she wasn't surprised to find herself taking more care in her appearance too. She was becoming more interested in make-up and lingerie, and simply felt younger, more feminine and sexy. She'd always taken care of her body with almost daily visits to the gym and yoga classes. Her job required her to be strong and healthy, and that was the way she liked be regardless. But now she felt back in touch with her sexuality, and it showed in the way she carried herself.

It was an interesting new development for both of them. Perhaps it was because they had been out of the game for too long, but more likely is was due to their both feeling secure in the knowledge that they were appreciated and loved.

Goren didn't link his arm in hers as they entered the bar. Eames gathered he didn't think it would be appropriate in front of their colleagues, though all were aware that their relationship had transformed into something else (which Logan had crudely but accurately described to her as _hot and heavy_). Despite his words making her chuckle, Alex advised him not to rag on Bobby in front of everyone.

Bobby and Alex were the last to arrive, but quickly spotted the awaiting party at a few adjoining mahogany tables. In attendance were Ross, Rodgers, Logan, Nichols and Wheeler and all were dressed to the nines.

Logan called out first, "Hey, it's the guest of honor – get over here man."

Bobby smiled and walked on over, as Ross stood up to shake his hand. "We thought you were going to pike out on us," the Captain (half) joked.

To Bobby's surprise, the Captain gave Eames a kiss on the hand. Bobby wasn't sure how he felt about that. Maybe Ross was drunk, but it was more likely that Eames looked so stunning that it seemed fitting. Besides, Rodgers was right there looking pretty stunning herself in her blue dress.

Alex's dress was much admired and Goren found himself ridiculously proud to sit down beside her at the round table set-up.

The Rioja red wine flowed with plate after plate tapas to accompany it. Small portions of cheese, squid, olives, ham, cod, tomatoes, potato omelets and spicy chorizo soon invaded their tongues.

The conversations bounced around happily with Rodgers regaling tall stories of Goren's corpse sniffing, while Ross recalled some of his more memorable interrogation tricks. Goren hoped and prayed that Eames wouldn't tell the 'Size 13s' story, and to her credit, she didn't. Nichols listened to the tales with detached amusement. He'd known Goren for less than a year, and had only heard the rumors before now.

Goren tried to change the subject by pointing out how intriguing it was that the wine, style of tapas and flamenco music had each originated from three distinct regions of Spain, and that the name of the bar – Arias - was downright Italian.

"You're a lucky woman Detective Eames to have had this fount of knowledge at your disposal," said Wheeler teasingly. "But can he play the piano?" she added, giving Nichols a wink. Zack looked taken aback for a second, but smiled before turning returning to his conversation with Ross and Rodgers.

Megan was happy to be out socializing and putting her personal woes out of her mind for a few hours. She had always been taught that it was polite to circulate at a social gathering, so she stood up and wedged her pregnant self between Logan and Goren, who shuffled apart to accommodate her.

She draped one arm loosely around each guy. "It's always been my fantasy to do this," Wheeler joked.

Mike opened his mouth for a sordid retort, but was cut off at the pass.

"Quiet you!" Megan ordered. She knew how to handle her former partner.

Eames looked on with amusement at Goren's discomfort.

'Freckles' finally extricated her arms from Goren and Logan and reached over to sip her virgin sangria. If she couldn't drink alcohol tonight, then she'd at least try to soak up the drunken atmosphere surrounding her.

When Logan turned to Nichols to exchange Wheeler stories, she tuned out deliberately, rolling her eyes in Goren and Eames' direction.

"Wheeler," said Goren tentatively, seizing the moment.

She looked at him with interest. It was so rare that Goren addressed her about anything but a case. "Yeah?"

"I don't think I've thanked you for your work you did on the case." He was referring to her discretion about the sex tape, and for arranging the dry-cleaning of his suits when she had been obligated to conduct a search of his apartment.

She smiled sincerely. "You're most welcome. I'm just glad I finally got to work a case with you, even if it was only for a day or so." She patted her swelling stomach. "I'm sure I'll be telling my little one how I once worked with the famous Detective Goren."

He raised his hand in a humble dismissal of her comment. He paused, not sure if he should state what else was on his mind.

Sensing something was on the tip of his tongue, she asked, "What is it?"

Bobby swallowed, "I wanted to…I mean if you ever need help with baby -or anything else..." He didn't want to mention her fiancé Ledger's incarceration. Wheeler was going to have her first child under less than ideal circumstances.

Megan was startled. She didn't realize that Detective Goren was even aware of her existence, much less her tribulations. She didn't want to scare him off by giving him a thank you kiss on the cheek, so she showed her gratitude with her shining eyes instead. "So Goren and Logan Investigations will be offering a baby-sitting service?" she kidded.

Logan's ears caught that. "I think you mean_ Logan_ and Goren investigations, Wheeler, and yes, we'll be happy to baby-sit – for a small nominal fee that is."

Wheeler looked at her former partner and scoffed. "You'll probably leave your weapon lying around."

"Well baby's going to follow in Mommy's footsteps is it not?" asked Logan.

The two of them took off with playful banter and Goren stayed quiet, though he continued to listen to them, shaking his head in enjoyment. He was looking forward to working with Logan again.

Eames patted Goren's thigh under the table. She'd overheard the whole exchange, and she was proud of him. He really was making an effort to be more open. To reciprocate, he placed a hand on her stocking-covered knee and started working his impatient fingers around her kneecap. She bit her bottom lip in response to the stimulation. She crossed her legs and pushed his hand away. "Be patient! "she whispered. It was the second time she had said no to him that night. There wouldn't be a third.

Goren looked decidedly frustrated and uncomfortable. He scratched furiously at the part of his chest that was exposed by his open buttons. Not long before, he'd noticed Nichols heading towards the bathroom. Thinking it wasn't a bad idea to have a time out, Goren got up, removed his dinner jacket, and headed in the same direction.

"Nichols," Goren said, catching the lean detective on the way out of the men's room..

"How're you holding up?" Zack answered. He could tell that Goren was ill at ease with so much attention.

"Just," admitted Goren with a raise of the eyebrows "How's Rikers progressing?"

"Better, looks like there might even be formal inquiry into the abuse."

"Glad to hear it." Goren knew all too well what it felt like to be incarcerated and tortured.

There was an awkward pause.

Goren filled it. "I'm glad you'll still be at Major Case..." He scratched his neck, unsure of how to word it. "Look out for Eames for me; I mean I know she doesn't need it but..."

"I'll keep an eye out," Nichols assured him.

Goren breathed a sigh of relief. "OK thanks." With the conversation at a standstill, he made his way towards the door of the bathroom.

Zack's voice spoke quietly behind him. "The squad won't be the same without you."

Goren turned to face him and their eyes met for a fleeting instant. Bobby nodded in thanks, and quickly entered the men's room.

When he returned, it was time for presents and toasts. He was surprised to receive tickets to the opera from Ross and Rodgers, and a classy set of Parker pens from Nichols. Wheeler presented him with a wooden desk nameplate.

"You should get it engraved with_ Robert Goren PI,_" suggested Logan, "and now for my present." Mike pulled out the plastic bag which had been sitting at his feet. He hadn't wrapped it, and simply handed over the bag. Goren peered inside as all eyes watched, eager to see what Logan was up to.

In the bag was a large, garish Hawaiian shirt with red and blue flowers all over it - Magnum PI style. And the sight of it was met with roars of laughter by everyone. Even Wheeler remembered watching that detective show on TV when she was a young kid.

Bobby smiled. "I didn't know I'd be getting a uniform."

"Well, _Goren_ and Logan Investigations is a classy outfit." Mike gave him a wink, indicating that he was prepared to put Goren's name first in the business name.

"Thanks man," said Bobby sincerely. He didn't mean for just the shirt.

"Well it has a better phonetic ring to it or something," muttered Logan.

Having never been an especially jovial drunk, Ross listened to the exchanges without comment. Although he was amused by Logan's gift, he wasn't overly ecstatic deep down. For one thing, he'd agreed to pick up the tab, which was going to run into the hundreds. For another, he was kind of still hoping that Goren was coming back, especially since Moran had seemingly dropped his idea of a hearing.

The Captain couldn't imagine Major Case without that pain-in-the-ass genius as a part of his squad. And how was it that Major Case had now lost both Goren and Logan under his leadership?

Still, he found himself happy for Goren, whose life was entering a new phase. He was clearly head over heels for Eames, and vice-versa, and it was good to see. They seemed to be exuding happiness, something that Ross had never witnessed on either of their faces since he'd known them.

Ross glanced at Elizabeth fondly. Everyone deserved someone to love. The thought lifted his mood, and a slightly drunk Danny Ross piped up, raising his glass. "I think it's time for a toast."

Everyone in the party fell silent and raised their glasses.

Ross wanted to make this toast count. "To one of the most intuitive, intelligent and successful detectives of the NYPD, and to the best partnership I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing. I think I speak for everyone when I say that I hope it continues to thrive in one way or another."

"Hear, hear," and the pleasant sound of clinking glasses filled the bar.

Goren took a gulp of wine before looking at Eames. His eyes said it all, but he whispered, "Thank you for being my partner," and they touched glasses. To his astonishment, she raised herself forward and upward and kissed him square on the lips. She withdrew quickly, sat back down, and popped an olive into her mouth, leaving Bobby bewildered at the public display.

The table lost it and whoops were heard. They had never witnessed their tightly restrained colleagues demonstrate their affection before, and both Wheeler and Logan banged their glasses on the table several times in delight.

This incident marked Goren's cue to leave. He raised his glass, looking bashful. "Thank you for tonight. It was a pleasure working with all of you – to Major Case."

"Major Case!" voices echoed.

After Goren had drained his (sixth? seventh?) glass of wine, he felt the need to get out of Dodge (and get Eames into the nearest bed), and he quietly told her so.

He stood up decisively making his intention to leave clear,"Uh thank you everybody for tonight. It was…thanks."

"You leaving in a bit of a hurry aren't you Goren, you that desperate to try on the shirt?" Logan's comment brought forth more inebriated chuckles. Eames took her cue from Bobby, and stood up unsteadily on her heels, placing his gifts in the plastic bag while he put on his dinner jacket.

She approached Ross and Rodgers. "Thank you for tonight – it was just right," she said quietly.

She then raised her voice to address the group. "Don't leave on our account. I'll see you all in a few weeks."

The farewells and handshaking were mercifully quick and emotion-free, and Goren and Eames left the bar. They retrieved their overcoats before making their way out into the chilly night. As they stood on the sidewalk together, they paused to seek each others reaction.

Eames spoke first. "That was nice huh? It wasn't too much for you?"

"Yeah it was nice. I'm…sorry for leaving early." He looked disproportionately worried.

She felt playful. "There's only one thing _you _should be sorry for Bobby."

He reviewed the evening, trying to evaluate his potential sins. "What's that?" he finally asked.

"Well, not one time today have you made me co...", she left the half uttered word floating the air to build his anticipation. She then stood up on tiptoes to whisper in his ear, her voice husky, "Coffee," she finished.

It was surprising that after almost ten years of knowing her, this woman could make him so hot and bothered so many times in a single night. Emulating her playfulness, he leaned down and murmured an accusation softly into her ear. "Well I wanted to earlier, but you turned it down, remember?"

Without waiting for a response, his heated lips suctioned to hers in an opened mouth kiss. He moved his tongue in and around to remind her of what he could do inside her. He was holding the plastic bag in one hand, but he gripped the back of her head firmly with the other.

When she came up for air she uttered. "Coffee, please."

He nodded in understanding and stuck out his arm to hail a cab. Not having any luck on the busy night, they continued walking up West 34th street before fate intervened.

They spied a sign out the front of a four-star hotel which read _'Special Walk-In Rate $140 w/ breakfast'._ Such a sign was not an uncommon sight in the dire financial times. Goren looked at her. "What do you think, should we splurge?" He couldn't afford it, but what the hell. It was an important occasion.

She nodded without any hesitation whatsoever.

After checking in, they were surprised at how amazing the room was for the price. There was a huge king-sized bed and tasteful light brown and white décor, and when Bobby went to the bathroom, he found a large tub. One that both of them could fit into.

"You want to take a bath?" he asked her.

She paused for moment considering. "Later," she said suggestively. Bed sex _then_ bath sex was what she had in mind.

Eames locked herself in the bathroom, and Bobby used the opportunity to pull off his socks and jacket and test the give of the mattress. He retrieved a couple of condoms from his wallet and put them on the nightstand. He was getting pretty desperate for her; the physical and emotional urge to just _be_ with her was starting to get overwhelming.

From he wallet, he also pulled out a piece of folded paper. He eyed it over nervously, wondering how she'd respond to the gift he'd bought her.

She emerged from the bathroom dressed in a gorgeous sheer black baby doll that showed off her curves to perfection. He felt himself harden at the sight of her, and he found himself standing up from his sitting position on the bed. "You look gorgeous." He was in awe. "I mean it Alex, you do." He drank her in greedily from head to toe.

She stalked over with a secretive look in her eye and bent over to retrieve something from her purse, giving him quite a show as she did so. He stood stock-still, staring at her luscious ass, so nicely displayed in her tiny lacy underwear with the sheer fabric back of the baby doll covering it like a veil. It was tantalizing.

She walked closer and handed him a wrapped rectangular parcel. "I bought you a present," she said.

He took it from her, the touch of her hands giving him a thrill. He rested one hand behind her head, and kissed her softly before sitting down on the bed. She sat next to him as he diverted his attention to the gift. He removed the light blue wrapping paper to find a copy of 'Great Expectations'.

"Alex?" he asked as he leafed through it. He noticed she had written a message in a careful cursive on the inside cover.

_**To Bobby,**_

_**My favorite person in the world.**_

_**Forever, Alex.**_

He felt like a sap for almost dissolving on the spot. He didn't know what to say, so he just looked at her, his eyes raw.

She put her hands on his arm. "I didn't want _him _to ruin it for you. It's a great book Bobby."

Apart from the hidden camera concealed in the spine of this story, David Dryden had stolen Bobby's Charles Dickens volume from his apartment. He'd then highlighted the venomous words of 'Estella' in an attempt draw parallels between that character and what Dryden had perceived as Eames' heartlessness.

"I underlined a passage of my own on the last page," she said, reading his mind like she always did.

He flicked through to the back, resting his eyes on the words of 'Estella', highlighted in pink. He read them aloud to Alex.

"_Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching… I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape."_

He exhaled in deep understanding. They had both suffered and been bent and broken, but it had led them right here – to this very moment. He closed the book gently and looked at her with fathomless adoration.

Tears were welling in her eyes. Unused to the emotion, she sniffed and smiled at him. "Your eye's white again," she pointed out. It was true; his burst blood vessel had healed.

"Thank you for this. I'll treasure it." He leaned over and kissed her softly, closing his eyes and transmitting all the love he could muster with the touch of his lips. Sensing her hands running down hips, he withdrew with the intention of giving her his own gift before they made love. He leaned over and placed the book on the nightstand beside the bed. He picked up the piece of paper next to it "I got you a little something too," he said apprehensively, pressing the paper into her palms.

Alex read the worried look on his face, and detected the uncertain tone of his voice. Just for a second, she feared the folded paper was a check reimbursing her for Frank's rehab fees.

As she opened it, she was never gladder to be wrong. "Two tickets to TGU," she read, "leaving in three days?" Not recognizing the airport code, she looked at him in confusion.

"I can see what you're thinking Eames. You're worried that Tegucigalpa is politically unstable right now."

For once Bobby was wrong. She wasn't thinking that at all. She was merely wondering how the hell to spell 'Tegucigalpa' and just where in the world was it again, Honduras?

He continued, "But don't worry, we won't linger in the capital. We'll head straight for Copan. It's an archeological site of a Mayan civilization dating from the 5th to the 9th century. There are temples there Eames - pyramids!" He stopped then, and seemed to be holding his breath in anticipation of her delight.

"Pyramids?" She suddenly remembered the conversation they'd had a couple of weeks ago when she'd mentioned that if they were fired, they'd escape to Central America to see the Mayan pyramids. It was more his idea of a fantasy vacation than hers, but she was open-minded. "Tell me more Bobby," she encouraged.

He nodded, stumbling and stammering over his words. "Th-Then we'll get a ferry to the Bay Islands and stay for at least week. I'm thinking of this little island called Utila. It's on the Caribbean, but it's economical. You could get your SCUBA license; you said you've always wanted to do that. The water's so warm that we could dive in our bathing suits."

He allowed himself a brief fantasy sequence of being her diving buddy whose job it would be to watch her bikini-clad butt swimming among coral, turtles and tropical fish.

"A week in the Caribbean?" Her interest was officially piqued.

He nodded with boyish excitement in his attempt to convince her of the appeal of the region. "And in the last week, we can make our way up to Guatemala to see ruins of Tikal. There are howler and spider monkeys swinging through the jungle – toucans, jaguars and more pyramids; it's an enormous site."

"You don't say!" She vaguely knew where he was talking about, having seen it on The History Channel or was it Indiana Jones?

"So you want to go with me?" he asked. He was eager, but there was still a hint of anxiety in his voice.

"Yeah, I wanna go," she said simply.

"Really?" He was still uncertain because he'd never surprised her like this before. In fact, he'd never surprised anyone like this before. The non-refundable airfares had only cost him $1000, but he was prepared to let it go if it was not how she wished to spend their month off.

"I can't wait Bobby!" She meant it. This is what she wanted from him. She wanted his interest and enthusiasm back, and here it was in spades. His eyes were shining and he was wriggling and twitching. He was authentic old-school Bobby Goren. A vacation was what they both needed, and she suddenly found that she did indeed want to see those pyramids, and get her SCUBA license. She'd never been to the Caribbean. She could don a bikini, and he could to wear swim shorts and they could both get a bit of a tan.

She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he dipped his head in shyness. At that, she was officially undone. "Thank you Bobby. It's the best gift anyone has ever given me."

"You mean it?" he looked at her for confirmation.

She nodded and stood up to lay the piece of paper down on the nightstand. She reached for a condom and sat back down. "I want to take a long vacation with you Bobby."

He was silent and still as she started to unbutton his dark green shirt. He suddenly got a wistful look in his eyes. "I just…" He faltered. This week had marked the end of their professional partnership.

"What is it?" she coaxed, stroking his cheek.

He looked at her, his eyes laden with emotion. "I just love you, that's all."

He never dreamed he'd be capable of declaring those words. Did she know how much she had meant to him, would always mean to him?

She returned his look without flinching. She never thought she'd give herself permission to love again, but it the end; she'd taken the risk. And there was no point doing it half-heartedly. "I love you too Bobby," she said softly.

No more words were spoken as they leisurely began to peel off articles of clothing. He pulled the pins from her hair, letting it fall loosely around her bare shoulders. They initiated their act of lovemaking by brushing their lips together with an exquisite gentleness, their heartbeats pulsing in synch as their naked chests united. Dual body temperatures merged and glowed with a quiet and radiant power as the exploratory touching began.

When he finally sank into her, his progress was deep and warm and slow and weighty. She welcomed him inside by massaging her willing hands across the curves of his strong buttocks with soft beckoning strokes. So substantial was his masculine love, that every last muscle in her body was roused in aching desire.

She savored the gentle pressure of his lips and teeth and tongue, which were moving all over her tingling skin. He arched his back to access her neck, and she turned her head to succumb to his hunger. All the while he never stopped moving inside her, loving her.

She gripped his broad shoulders and her knuckles turned white as she held on tight. He responded with sure and slow strokes, causing her to release a low and lengthy hum from deep within her throat. His rhythm ebbed and flowed like salty and changeable waves, foaming, circling, swirling. Each time he advanced, her hips rose to meet him, and when he attempted to retreat, she hugged her walls around him tightly, making him hiss.

As the partners established their cadence, a deep voice moaned, "Oh Alex!" Upon hearing his pleas, she secured her legs around him. She intended to keep him close to her always.

Knowing that they had the rest of their lives to do this, their lovemaking was unhurried. She climbed on top of him and rode him gently while he lifted her buttocks with his strong hands. She threw her head back, her hair streaming down as she came with him. She was liberated.

It almost seemed as though a zephyr had floated down to lift the lovers high above the New York skyscrapers, away from the troubles of the city.

**12 Months Later**

Goren was engrossed in his latest private investigation involving a presumably slain teenaged girl from New Jersey. Although her blood-stained blouse had been found, her body and her killer had not. The case had been cold for twelve years, but Goren and Logan were now as determined as the girl's aging parents to find out what had happened to 15-year-old Martha Castle.

Two days previously, Bobby had felt himself closing in on the truth while questioning the brother of the deceased girl's boyfriend. The boyfriend had always been the most likely suspect, but his younger brother and three of their friends had alibied each other for the night she went missing.

Even though the boyfriend's DNA had been found on the blouse, the evidence could be explained away since there were witnesses who attested that he made out with her at school on the day she disappeared. Even more suspicious was the fact that the brothers' uncle had worked in a crematorium at the time of the murder. Getting rid of the body would have been a cinch.

The younger brother had been 13 when the crime occurred, but he was now a 25 year old man. Goren sensed that with the right kind of prodding, he would be ready to talk. But fraternal bonds could be tricky.

Logan had just left to check out the Crematorium's employee files, while Bobby was driving out to Jersey for another friendly chat, his binder on the seat beside him. Goren's cell rang and he pressed the button of his hands free kit.

It was his secretary. "Goren -. you're not going to believe this, but I have Kenneth Moran on the line for you. I told him you weren't available, but he's insisting it's urgent and wants to stay on hold."

Goren smiled inwardly. "I can't right now Melissa; I'm in the van. Tell him to leave his number, and I'll call him back."

She giggled. "I don't think he's gonna like that, but you're the boss. Hang on…" She put him on hold.

Melissa had been lured to _Goren and Logan Investigations_ fairly easily. She was bored of her rural location at Brownlow College, and had come to the city with bells on. She'd turned out to be the best decision they'd made thus far, as she had a particular knack for IT, marketing and handling the finances. She seemed to be able to clinch every client who called, and there had been many, many clients. Jimmy Deakins had put the word out and Carver's private practice had also engaged their investigative services on numerous occasions.

After a minute or two of waiting, Melissa got back to him. "Goren?"

"Yeah." Bobby knew what Moran was after because his wife, still being an employee of Major Case, had given him the inside track.

There had recently been a spate of home-invasions/murders specifically targeting city workers. The incidences had been increasing in violence and frequency, but neither Homicide nor Major Case could find a connection beyond the victims' public employment. What was needed was a profile of the perpetrator. There had to be a pattern, a motive.

Melissa relayed the telephone message. "Mr Moran said the Mayor of New York City himself has requested you for an urgent case. He assures you that you'll have all the resources you need at your disposal, and you can handpick your own team."

_Hmm… my own team- interesting, _thought Goren._  
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"Thanks Melissa, tell him I'll call him back in a few hours," instructed Goren.

He ended the call and continued his drive to Jersey, hell bent on his quest to uncover Martha Castle's killer.

**FIN**

A/N

So Bobby and Eames are happy and S9 never happened.

This chapter marks the end of my 6-month odyssey. I never imagined that my (let's face it) far-fetched premise of _"What if Bobby found out Eames had visited an escort?"_ would take so long to write.

I can't fully express my appreciation to all the people who followed my (totally unbeta'd) story through chapters of poison bees, home-dentistry and Bahraini people trafficking.

I want to extend my gratitude to those who left multiple comments. I borrowed so many ideas from you and drew a lot of motivation from your words, right until the last paragraph. I would have given up ages ago otherwise.

Thanks for reading!


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